We Burn Like Stars
by Sequoya
Summary: Atobe Keigo accidentally stumbles into Ryoma's worst nightmare. To ensure Ryoma's safety, Atobe is forced to look out for him, but obligation quickly turns to unwilling affection as Atobe learns more and more about the cocky freshman of Seigaku.
1. Chapter 1

Atobe Keigo stood on top of the Hyotei bleachers.

It was a sunny day. The courts were rolling in green grass and sweaty tennis players. The club room shone over a spanning horizon of golf courts and soccer fields. From his peripheral vision, the girls' tennis team was finishing up practice. Hundreds of pretty girls with swinging ponytails and short skirts were jogging around the court parameters.

Atobe smirked. Maybe he would go observe later. Cute girls were always fun to watch.

A couple feet away from him, Jiroh hung lopsidedly on the bleachers, drool trailing from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Gakuto was reading a tennis magazine, and Oishitari was leaning over his shoulder making smartass remarks. Kabaji sat behind Atobe, eyes trained in front of him, somewhat like a solidly unmoving statue. Shishido applied new grip tape to his racquet, and Ootori watched him with an indiscreet blush.

All in all, it was an ordinary day in the courtyard of Hyotei junior high.

Tennis practice would start in fifteen minutes, and the regulars were waiting for the girls' tennis team to clear off the courts.

"Ahn… it's so hot…" Atobe wiped his forehead with a silver handkerchief. He wished he was allowed to bring his servants to school, but the school board had a policy that forbade him from doing so. Disgruntled, Atobe made a mental note to ask his father to bribe the school board into changing the rules. He really needed an ice cold pink lemonade. Speaking of petty annoyances…

"Ne, Atobe?" Shishido said suddenly. "Isn't that a Seigaku member?"

"Pfft, what's Seigaku doing here!" Gakuto groaned.

Atobe followed Shishido's line of vision. Walking around the outside parameters of the courts was a boy in a trademark blue-and-white Seigaku jacket. A white cap was pulled low over his face, and a Ponta can was permanently stuck to his mouth.

Atobe stared for a moment. There was only one person that was barely five feet and a regular on Seigaku's team. He smirked. "Echizen Ryoma."

"That freshman brat?" Gakuto murmured.

Oishitari looked rather disturbed. "Who let him in? Only Hyotei students with their ID card are allowed into school parameters."

Jiroh awoke to the commotion, and smiled sleepily. "Hey, it's that cute freshman!"

"He's not cute," Shishido said immediately.

"He's a _rival._" Ootori nodded in agreement.

"Atobe," Oishitari said. "Shouldn't you do something about this? He isn't allowed on school property."

Atobe figured he _should_ do something. Then again, the brat had probably been led here by Atobe's magnificent aura. Atobe figured his pull was hard to resist. Cloaking his jacket over his shoulders, he nodded slightly to Kabaji. "Come, Kabaji."

"Usu."

The two Hyotei members approached Ryoma. Upon closer inspection, Atobe noted that the brat looked to be deep in thought. He was bouncing a tennis ball on the rim of his racquet, but his eyes were trained on the ground.

Great control as always, Atobe admitted reluctantly in his head.

Atobe cleared his throat. "Ore-sama has arrived."

Ryoma looked up from the ground, and stopped in his tracks. He stared at Atobe for a long moment. Then his eyes gleamed. "If it isn't the Monkey King."

Atobe frowned. "That's _Atobe-sama _to you."

"Hai, hai." Ryoma smirked. "What's up, Monkey King?"

Atobe refrained from twitching. Instead, he kept a cool façade. "This is a private school. Only Hyotei members are allowed on property." He narrowed his eyes at Ryoma who appeared too nonchalant for his own good. "I advise you leave."

Ryoma shrugged. "I'm bored." He frowned into his Ponta. "We should play a match."

"Hyotei has tennis practice in a few minutes," Atobe said. "And besides, Ore-sama would rather eat a _burger _than play with a brat like you."

"A burger?" Ryoma arched a brow. "I don't get it."

"Burgers are filthy and middle-class," Atobe explained.

Ryoma snorted, taking a sip of his ponta. "Che. Whatever. I'm leaving, then." He turned on his heel, and began to walk the other way.

But people did not simply _walk away _from Atobe Keigo.

"Echizen," Atobe said in a chilling voice. "Turn around."

Ryoma looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"You broke school rules." Atobe waved him forward. Ryoma sighed and walked toward him once more. "How did you get in? The school forbids outsiders from entering."

Ryoma shrugged. "I hopped over the fence."

"You _what_?"

"I hopped over the fence." Ryoma practically sneered. "It's not that tall."

Atobe stared. And stared. "You _hopped_ over the fence?"

Ryoma shrugged. "Okay, well, I climbed, and then hopped. Can I go now?"

"No - I – " Atobe turned to Kabaji. "Send a letter to the school demanding they make the fences taller." He swiped a hand through his hair, muttering, "What has the school security come to." Kabaji nodded with an "Usu" and removed himself from Atobe's side.

Ryoma watched him go. "Heh. Now your bodyguard is gone."

"He's not my bodyguard." Atobe sniffed. "He's my personal friend."

"Your personal friend?" Ryoma peered at him skeptically.

"Yes." Atobe looked miffed. "Anyway, my question is, why did you come to Hyotei? Were you so desperate to see Ore-sama that you needed to hop over fences?"

Ryoma snorted again. "I was bored. I wanted an opponent. All my senpai-tachi are busy studying for exams." He shrugged. "Hyotei already had their exams, right?"

Atobe watched him carefully. "Yes. Ore-sama got top in the class, as usual."

"Me too." Ryoma smirked. "But unlike you, I didn't even have to try."

"Who said I tried, brat?!"

Ryoma opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by commotion in the distance. A group of security guards decked out in black uniforms entered Hyotei, stepping out of a long, sleek limousine. The girls finishing up their tennis practice stopped and stared. Other Hyotei students paused mid-conversation, entranced by the fancy vehicle and bodyguards. Hyotei was used to having rich students, but everyone, especially Atobe, knew that bodyguards were currently against the Hyotei school rules.

"Wow." Ryoma hummed. "Who's that? He looks richer than you."

Atobe scoffed. "No one is richer than me." Still, he couldn't help but stare. This was an unusual situation. Ryoma probably thought it was normal considering Hyotei was a rich private school, but Atobe knew Hyotei well enough. This never happened regularly. For a few moments, everyone just stared as the body guards moved forward in a pack. They seemed to be protecting someone in the middle.

"Hey," Ryoma said. "They're walking to you."

Atobe crossed his arms over his chest, and sharpened his gaze. The bodyguards, unfazed, walked toward him.

"Atobe Keigo," the front bodyguard said. He was twice Atobe's size, and triple Ryoma's. "You're the captain of the Hyotei tennis team?"

"That would be me." Atobe's gaze didn't waver.

"Hmm." Ryoma sipped on his Ponta. This was getting interesting.

The front bodyguard nodded briskly. "Your current coach is Sakaki Taro?"

They knew the coach? Atobe just stared. "Yes. What do you want?" He didn't like this atmosphere.

The second bodyguard pulled out a sheet of paper, and shoved it into Atobe's unwilling hands.

"What is this?" Atobe's eyes skimmed the contract in his hand.

"We are willing to pay ¥12093500 to replace your current coach."

Ryoma coughed on his drink.

Atobe's eyes widened a fraction. That was a large sum of money. Too large.

"Why?" Atobe uttered. For once, he was nearly speechless.

The first bodyguard said: "Our owner, Kon Nikolaj is the CEO of the largest company in Japan. He also has great interest in tennis. He wanted to be able to coach Japan's richest junior high tennis team as a personal passion."

"CEO of… the largest company…" Atobe gaped. "Coach for a junior high team?"

Ryoma stared at the bodyguard. Kon Nikolaj… why did that name sound so _familiar… _

"Yes. Welcome the great Kon Nikolaj." In perfect harmony, the bodyguards sidestepped, opening up the protective circle originally formed. Left in the centre was a middle-aged man with a cigarette in his mouth, a golden ring in his left hand. Expensive clothing splattered his broad body. He smirked. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I…" Atobe could not close his mouth. It took him a moment to realize that Kon was not looking at him. Instead, he was looking at…

Ryoma?!

"You…" Ryoma's whole body was trembling, and the Ponta can fell from his hand and onto the ground. Purple liquid oozed onto the pavement.

Kon leered at him. Ryoma's breathing became shallow, his eyes wide and panicked. In a state of paralysation, he grabbed a fistful of Atobe's shirt, pulling close to his side. Atobe's face morphed into stunned disbelief. What was going on with the brat?

Kon tore his gaze from Ryoma and strode past them. He patted Atobe on the shoulder as he passed. "I look forward to working with you." His voice was chilly – the calm before a storm. Atobe stood rigidly as he watched the bodyguards follow Kon into the school. For the longest time, everyone on the Hyotei property was silent. The students watched in awe as the bodyguards disappeared into the school building. The girls' tennis team was still and unmoving. Ryoma was vibrating next to him.

Then the girls' tennis team captain shouted, "Practice is over!" and everything resumed. Students began talking. The girls chatted with each other as they cleaned up the tennis courts. Jiroh was heard fanboying about something across the far end of the bleachers.

But all Atobe could think about was the small body pressed against his side, shaking from head to toe in fear.

There was something weird going on.

And Atobe, being an _Atobe, _was going to get to the bottom of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryoma could barely breathe.

His heart squeezed in his chest, pounding like a herd of elephants. His breaths felt distant and faraway, and he was only just aware of his hand clenching onto the side of Atobe's jersey. He couldn't believe that man was here in Japan. Ryoma had done everything to get away from him. His whole family had up and moved to a new country so Ryoma could feel safer.

Ryoma swayed. _Why does he have to keep following me?_

"Oi…" Atobe gently pried Ryoma's shaking hands from his jersey. "What's gotten into you?"

Ryoma blinked. His world was spinning.

"Echizen." Atobe sounded annoyed. "What's wrong?"

Atobe. Right. He was with Atobe in Hyotei. He couldn't have a mental breakdown in front of him. Clearing his head, he bent down and picked up his spilled Ponta. His thoughts jumbled with fear, but he carded them aside. He had to be indifferent. He had to be _okay. _He wasn't letting that monster take more of him.

"I should go," Ryoma finally said. He was glad his voice didn't crack when he spoke.

"Who was that?" Atobe inquired. "Did you know him?"

Ryoma shrugged. "No."

Atobe narrowed his eyes. "Ore-sama demands you stop lying."

Ryoma shot him an amused look. "Make me."

"Do you have to be so infuriating?"

"Infuriating. Big word for a Monkey King."

"Treat me with respect," Atobe said calmly.

"Get a life," Ryoma responded cheekily. He was proud of himself with his ability to keep up this charade even when his life was practically crumbling down to the ground.

Atobe sharpened his eyes. "Can you explain why you were trembling in fear a few moments ago?"

Ryoma frowned. "Mind your own business."

"Brat, tell me. He's being a coach at my school." Atobe's eyes were slits. "Tell me what you're hiding."

Ryoma's eyes dimmed, and he had to look at the ground. He wasn't going to tell Atobe what he was hiding. Nobody was ever going to figure that out. This was supposed to be his new life. A fresh start. But what if the Hyotei students were in danger because of his stubbornness? It was a tricky situation. Right now, though, he needed to home. He needed to unravel by himself.

"I'm leaving," Ryoma finally said. "But I wouldn't suggest making him your coach."

Atobe pressed, "But _why?"_

Ryoma ignored the adamant question. "Also, you might want to get someone to clean my Ponta up. I don't think sugary drinks and tennis courts mix."

"You brat!"

Ryoma smirked. But the moment he turned away, his smile dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut against the buildup of tears, and he told himself to wait until he got home. Until he was locked behind doors and allowed to cry. Without glancing back, he left the Hyotei courts, ignoring the fear that threatened to swallow him whole.

* * *

By the time he reached his house, the sky was a contrast of oranges and pinks. Nanako was hanging up clothing to dry on the clothing line while Karupin pawed at her long skirt. She smiled as Ryoma passed her, but Ryoma ignored her. He needed to hole up into his room. He was five seconds away from breaking point.

Entering the home, Ryoma slipped off his shoes as quietly as possible. Hopefully his dad wasn't home. His mother was an attorney, so she was probably still at work.

He stealthily headed for the stairwell.

"Oi, seishounen, not so fast!"

Damn.

Ryoma took an uneven breath. He blinked back burning tears, and swallowed hard. He had to keep his composure. Without looking back, he snapped, "What do you want, old man?"

"So disrespectful!" Nanjiroh tutted. "Now come here, young one…"

There was apparently no escape.

Ryoma took another deep breath, hoping he masked the edginess coursing through his veins. He turned around.

His father was sitting in the kitchen, feet propped up on the dining table. He had a newspaper in his hand, but Ryoma could see the folds of a magazine peeking out from underneath. He rolled his eyes. He had such a stupid dad. "What do you want?" Ryoma asked, standing across from him, heels of his palms pressed on the dining table surface.

"So uncute." Nanjiroh eyed him. "And what's with that face?"

Ryoma blinked. "What face?"

"That one." Nanjiroh pointed. "The one when you're upset but pretend not to be."

His stomach dropped. He really needed to master Tezuka's poker face. "I'm fine." Ryoma waved his hand irritably. "Now what do you want?"

Nanjiroh studied him for a longer moment. Then he shrugged, cackling. "I signed you up for a tennis training camp!"

"A what?" Ryoma wasn't in the mood for this.

"Are you deaf, boy?" Nanjiroh threw a pamphlet at his head. "A tennis training camp. You need to get much better if you want to beat me, you know."

Ignoring the jibe, Ryoma unfolded the bright pamphlet. He skimmed it. A tennis training camp. One week of the summer. Only cordially invited players from the Atobe… wait, _Atobe?_ The Atobe company was sponsoring it. Ryoma just stared, sharp eyes narrowed. "What is this?" He finally said, baffled. "The Atobe Company?"

"Right, right. The rich are running it." Nanjiroh sounded wistful. "You're going to be living in an expensive hotel with first-class spas and pretty ladies serving you food." He fake-sobbed. "You don't even deserve it!"

"We can afford this?" Ryoma said blandly.

"Of course we can!" Nanjiroh waggled his brow. "I have money from my glory days, you know."

"Oyaji, you spent all of that on buying useless shit off of Ebay."

"Porn magazines aren't _useless!_"

Ryoma stared at him flatly. "How did you get me in?"

Nanjiroh took a sip of his tea. "If you must know, I'm friends with Atobe."

"Atobe?" Ryoma gaped.

"Shigeo Atobe. We went to the same high school."

Oh. Atobe's father. That explained things. Ryoma glanced down at the pamphlet again. That made sense. Atobe's father could probably earn a lot of extra money running a rich tennis camp, especially if his son was known as the ace tennis player of Hyotei. Everyone with enough money would be dying to send their kids to a training camp run by the Atobe family.

"Hyotei might be there," Ryoma said thoughtfully.

"Ehh?"

"Nothing." Ryoma folded the pamphlet. "Is that all?"

"So bratty. Yes, that's all."

Ryoma nodded, about to leave.

His father stopped him with his voice. "Hey, kid."

"Yes?" Ryoma didn't bother to hide his vexation at being interrupted again.

Nanjiroh just stared at him. "You okay?"

The concern – so vulnerable and open – made it even harder to hold himself together.

Ryoma bit his lip because he was seriously going to start crying any minute now. "I'm _fine._" He couldn't wait for an answer. He whipped around and ran for the stairs, climbing two steps at a time. Tears were already filling his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. He opened his bedroom door, and clicked it shut behind him. Ignoring his messy room, he slid down onto the carpet. He pressed his face against his knees, trying to muffle his sobs.

Memories were flooding back to him. Memories he had pushed away. Memories that his therapist had helped him get over. Memories that were supposed to vanish because of Japan's endless summers and cherry blossom trees.

Why did he have to come to Japan?

Ryoma cried into his knees, only just managing to hide the sound. He choked on his tears, not bothering to hold anything back. He cried and cried until fatigue won him over. When he was unable to cry anymore, he wiped his puffy eyes, taking shaky, uneven breaths. He wasn't going to let Kon win. He was stronger this time. He was prepared. He wasn't a naïve kid anymore who stayed out late at night by himself. He was smarter. It wasn't going to happen again.

Ryoma wouldn't let it.

Exhausted, Ryoma fumbled into his pajamas. Then he curled into his bed, allowing the blankets to cloak him. He buried himself in the warmth. He was so tired. He was so tired of running from his past. And when he'd finally thought he'd gotten over it, the man had come into his life as if he hadn't taken enough of Ryoma the first time around.

Ryoma curled deeper into the covers. He needed to forget about it. He would sleep. Sleep would make everything better.

But even in his slumber, Ryoma dreamed of everything he wished would wipe away from his memory. He dreamed of touch and laughter and musky cigarettes. He dreamed of exhaustion and pain and blood and hands. He dreamed of a time he wished he were dead, unfeeling and empty like a lifeless corpse buried under mounds of sand.

* * *

Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! I do apologize that I write short chapters, but I hope regular updates make up for it? I'm actually really scared with where this story is going. I feel like I have too many things going on at once, and so much to explain. I know a little mystery is good, but I think I may have jumbled things up too much?


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few weeks, Atobe Keigo tried to get a hold of the Kon Nikolaj situation.

The rumor mill had already started up. Dozens of students asked him about whether or not Kon Nikolaj would be the new tennis coach. Students simpered over his richness, daydreaming about when they would be able to earn that kind of success in the future. Some of his teammates were bouncing with excitement at the opportunity to have a new coach (Jiroh had grumbled, "Thank god! Coach Sakaki could be so _cruel _sometimes").

But most of all, everyone was excited for the money the school would get. The entirety of Hyotei would be revamped. The school that was already known for its quality would become a booming powerhouse. Every upper-class family would scramble to get their children to Hyotei. From a general perspective, the coach exchange was a win-win situation.

But Atobe wasn't sure if he agreed.

There was something fishy about Kon Nikolaj. And Ryoma… he had acted so _weird _around him.

Personal grudge? Atobe waved the thought away. Ryoma didn't hold personal grudges. He was uncaring of those kinds of things. Atobe sighed, entering the student council office. He was going to have to get Ryoma to spill one way or another.

"Oishitari." Atobe nodded as he took a seat next to him.

"Atobe." Oishitari had a notebook open, hand poised over the blank page. "You've heard about Kon Nikolaj, right?"

"Of course I have." Atobe tried to hide the distaste from his voice.

"It makes no sense." Oishitari scribbled something down. "He's the CEO of a major company. Can he really afford to take time out of his day to coach junior high students?" He was talking to himself more than anything. "That begs the question of why he would even want to coach junior high students. Rather peculiar taste, isn't it?"

Atobe agreed. This was weird. Kon Nikolaj had to have a deeper reason for wanting to coach Hyotei's team. But there was no use in mentioning it now. He had no evidence, and Atobe, being an _Atobe_, knew how the real world worked. Evidence was a requirement to proceed in any kind of accusation.

Folding his hands on the table, Atobe watched as student council members filed in. The teacher supervisor came last, almost ten minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, balancing a coffee mug and mounds of paper in her hands. "Phew! Sorry I'm late," she said, tripping over herself to get to her seat. "The students were crazy last period. Just crazy."

Atobe smirked. The teacher supervisor was always late. She was a total klutz.

"Oh, dear." She blew on her coffee, her cheeks pink. "Does anyone know what's on the agenda for today?"

"Kon Nikolaj," Oishitari said smoothly.

"Oh, yes, that famous CEO." She looked rather uncomfortable discussing him. "Is there really anything to discuss?"

"Well, yes," Oishitari said. He basically ran the meetings. "Is it really acceptable to replace our current coach with someone who, from what we know, has no professional tennis experience?"

Another student snorted. "You're joking, right. Do you know how much money he's giving the school?"

The teacher nodded. "Yes…" She took a sip of her coffee, trying to organize her notes. "We really have to look at the benefits the school is earning."

"But the tennis team could collapse," Oishitari said.

"It's a _tennis _team! This is the future of the school!" A student retorted.

"Well, yes…"

The teacher nodded. "Yes, I do imagine, if we get all that money, we'll even be able to have those neat coffee lounges we wanted to get." She smiled brightly. "We could even get personal servants in each class."

Oishitari pushed his glasses up. "Our school has a reputation for tennis."

Another student said: "You'll still be good at tennis with a different coach, won't you?"

"Yeah! Stop being biased. Just because _you're_ on the tennis team…"

Oishitari looked exasperated. "Are we sure of this man's intentions?"

"Why be suspicious?" Another student complained. "This is benefitting the whole school. Hyotei will be richer than ever."

"And I really want that coffee lounge," the teacher said happily.

Atobe took a sip of his green tea, closing his eyes. The student council room was chaos. Everyone was arguing with Oishitari. He supposed it made sense to make the deal. Coach Sakaki could be cruel. And besides, it wasn't as if the coach had any credit for leading the team to victory. Atobe smirked to himself. That, of course, was the job of their majestic captain.

Still, the students trilled. So immature.

The only reason Atobe hadn't made a final decision yet was because of Ryoma.

Ryoma had specifically suggested they not have Kon as their coach.

But Ryoma… Atobe barely knew Ryoma properly. He couldn't let their school lose nearly a million dollars because Ryoma was nervous about something. That was ridiculous. He had to think with a clear head.

"Atobe," Oishitari whispered over the chaos. "What do we do?"

He would get his father to get a private investigator look into Kon Nikolaj's history.

And then he would have a little chat with Seigaku's favorite rookie.

"Atobe," Oishitari repeated. The student council room was now raging with arguments. Apparently some students thought the money should be spent on classrooms while others thought it should be spent on sports.

Atobe sighed. It was remarkable that he got through each day with these little people. He was so much greater than everyone.

Closing his eyes, he snapped his fingers – the sound tore through the chaos, and silence fell immediately.

Everyone looked to him for guidance.

Atobe opened his eyes, and smirked. "The meeting will be postponed for this Friday." He turned slickly to the teacher supervisor. "Isn't that right?"

She flushed a deep red, looking down meekly. "Yes – ah – yes! Atobe-kun is right. Meeting, dismissed!"

* * *

Atobe got Ryoma's number from Gakuto, who got it from Kikumaru, who got it by taunting Kikumaru by _daring _him to get it. According to Gakuto, Kikumaru had fiercely taken on the dare, giving him Ryoma's house number with passionate savagery.

Children. They were all children.

But Atobe now possessed Ryoma's house number. Sinking into his specially-designed bubble bath, he dialed the number.

He was met with a: "I'm not Nanjiroh! I'm a monk!"

"Eh?" Atobe raised a brow.

"… I'm not Nanjiroh. Who the hell are you?"

"Atobe Keigo, heir to the Atobe company."

"Oh? No idea Shigeo had a kid…"

Atobe ignored the statement. He didn't know what the man was talking about. "I request to speak to Ryoma."

"Ryoma? Ha… didn't know that kid had friends…RYOMAAA! It's FOR YOUU!"

Atobe chuckled at the statement. So Ryoma wasan antisocial loner. Interesting. After a few moments (a rather long time, actually), a disgruntled voice came on the other end. Atobe sunk deeper into the bath.

"What do you want?" The brat sounded irritated.

"Echizen."

There was silence. Then:

"… _Monkey King?_"

"Incorrect. It's Ore-sama."

"How did you get this number?" Ryoma sounded even more annoyed.

"I have my methods."

"What do you _want_?" His voice… he seemed almost unsure of himself. Atobe realized with growing satisfaction that Ryoma was embarrassed over his little incident at the tennis courts. He smiled to himself. It served the brat right.

"I need clarification about Kon Nikolaj."

There was a long moment of silence. Ryoma's voice trembled when he replied. "Leave me alone."

"Echizen." Atobe sighed deeply. "Don't be stubborn."

"Just drop the subject."

"I can't. Hyotei depends on it."

"Just – I already _said _not to make him coach. Now leave me alone!"

Atobe could tell Ryoma was on the verge of hanging up. He had to move fast.

"Coffee at six tonight?"

"Coffee?" Ryoma sounded disgusted.

Atobe quickly amended, "A diner."

"A _diner_?"

"I'll pay for an unlimited supply of Ponta delivered straight to your doorsteps."

There was a pause. Atobe knew he had got him.

"Fine," Ryoma said shortly. "But we're doing burgers."

Then he hung up. Atobe frowned into the phone. _Burgers. _How filthy and middle-class.

Still. Atobe leaned against the bathtub. He was going to have the brat right where he wanted him.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. "Atobe-sama!"

Atobe tugged at his silky dress shirt, standing in front of a full-length mirror. Burgers didn't call for fancy wear, but Atobe needed to ensure that other residents of the burger place didn't think he was one of _them. _"Come in," he said. He pushed back his gorgeous locks of hair. He did look quite stunning. He supposed he always looked stunning, but white always brought out his elegance.

The door opened, and one of servants approached him. She had a note in her hand. "Atobe-sama." She bowed.

"Yes?" Atobe disinterestedly spritzed on cologne.

"This is a note with information about Kon Nikolaj, as you requested."

Atobe paused. He eyed her. "Read it."

"Eto… Apparently Kon Nikolaj was briefly arrested a few years ago while he was in the US, marketing his company. It was apparently for a very scandalous reason, but it was covered up by Kon. He was only arrested for a week before the court appealed him as innocent."

Atobe stared at the maid. Kon Nikolaj had been arrested before?

Maybe Ryoma actually had a good reason to be frightened of him.

"So he corrupted the other lawyer?"

"Probably something like that." The maid bowed respectfully. "May I leave your presence Atobe-sama?"

Atobe waved her off. He was no longer interested in his own stunning elegance.

Kon Nikolaj might be more dangerous than he had first predicted.

Atobe glanced at himself once more, before asking his butler to prepare a limo. This was exactly why he needed to get Ryoma to confess what he knew – even if it took the boy breaking into tears from the pressure for it to happen.

* * *

Ryoma entered the burger place ten minutes later with sluggish steps and dark circles around his eyes. He flopped down on the chair across from Atobe, not bothering to hide a huge yawn behind his hand.

_Mannerless, _Atobe noted. Still. His brows furrowed in concern. "You're late."

"I'm doing this favor for you," Ryoma said darkly. "I get to be late if I want."

Atobe pursed his lips. "Can you be less insolent?"

"No." Ryoma glared. He seemed to be in a horrible mood. Atobe wondered if it had something to do with the darkness under his eyes. Pushing aside unwilling worry, Atobe studied Ryoma. He was a tough nut to crack. If Atobe wanted information out of him, he was going to have to be very slick. Incredibly slick.

"Filthy place, this is," Atobe said.

"Grow up." Ryoma yawned again. "Besides, you chose this place."

"Unfortunately, even after extensive searching, it seems all burger places are filthy. This was the best I could find."

"Shut up, Atobe."

Atobe smiled pleasantly. "Atobe? I'm delighted to see that you've moved on from your childish nicknames. Although, of course, Atobe-sama is _preferable-_"

"You know what's preferable? If you grew a tail and hopped from tree to tree."

"You wound me."

"I really don't."

Atobe sighed dramatically, pretending to be amused by Ryoma's antics. A waiter came over a moment later, asking them what they wanted. While it _was_ a burger place, Atobe had chosen the best burger place he could find. He would never walk up to the counter to order food. That was a crime if you were an Atobe.

Ryoma eyed her lazily. "Two cheeseburgers and a soda."

Atobe gave her an apologetic look. "He means to add please. Now, I personally would enjoy a nice burger deluxe…"

In only five minutes, the orders were given and food was delivered. Atobe stared suspiciously at his burger, while Ryoma downed his food like… well, like a disgrace. Atobe watched him distastefully before taking a sip out of his bottled water. He would just eat a proper meal when he got home.

Just halfway through the dinner, when Ryoma had relaxed considerably, Atobe dove into the heart of the matter.

"Our school is deciding whether Kon should be the coach or not. Most people are in favor of it."

Ryoma tensed immediately. He swirled his straw around his iced soda. "I don't care."

Atobe leaned forward. "You're a brat. But I don't think you're cruel enough to send the whole student body of a school in danger."

Ryoma looked uncomfortable. "What do you want, Atobe?"

"I want you to tell me what you know about Kon Nikolaj."

Ryoma stared at the table. "Can't you take my word for it?"

"It's a million dollars." Atobe pressed his lips together. "Unless I have a reason, I can't just let go of that much money for the school."

The boy shrunk into himself. He looked exhausted. "Stuff happens."

"Stuff?" Atobe inquired patiently.

"Yes," Ryoma said tiredly. "He's an asshole."

Atobe was momentarily surprised by the language. "Oh."

Ryoma pushed himself up. "I'm leaving."

"No," Atobe demanded.

"Fuck you," Ryoma responded. He started forward.

Atobe, desperate to keep the boy for a moment longer, said: "I know he's been arrested."

Ryoma paused, eyes flashing. He turned back around. "Yes. He has."

"But he cleared it. Do you know what he got arrested for?"

Ryoma's eyes were shiny now. He blinked rapidly. "I can't _tell _you."

"Yes, you can!" Atobe practically shouted.

People from the burger place turned to look at them. He adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, coughing. He needed to keep his composure. Yelling at Ryoma wasn't going to do anything but drive him away – and Atobe wasn't a fan of raising his voice. He just didn't understand why Ryoma wouldn't tell him.

It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Can you sit down?" Atobe asked after a moment of hesitation. "I won't ask about him. I'll buy you another burger."

Ryoma stared tensely at the ground. Then he nodded slightly, and sat back down. Atobe waved the waiter over to order another burger. They sat in silence for a long time. Ryoma chewed slowly on his burger, half-asleep. Atobe watched him. In the dim lights of the restaurant, he couldn't help but notice that Ryoma was attractive.

Atobe knew attractive when he saw it (being gorgeous himself) but he was normally too occupied with observing Ryoma's tennis or bratty attitude to notice it.

But Ryoma was cute. He had those bright amber eyes and curved cheeks. He had the soft hair. He had the innocence (when he wasn't insulting people).

Atobe looked away. He didn't need to think about that.

Minutes drew by. Ryoma finished his burger, and sipped on his soda. Atobe ordered a dessert. He needed to somehow extend the wait. He needed to ask questions. But he didn't know how without getting Ryoma mad.

When the cherry pie arrived, he cut a slice for both of their plates. He was hungry, and cherry pie wasn't nearly as filthy as burgers.

"You're eating it?" Ryoma snorted. "Surprising."

Atobe was surprised that Ryoma had started the conversation voluntarily. "A little cherry pie never hurt anyone."

"But a little burger does?" Ryoma asked.

"Burgers are filthy," Atobe reminded him.

Ryoma made a noise of objection, but otherwise didn't say anything else. Comfortable silence spread over them. Atobe ate the cherry pie, finding it surprisingly good. Ryoma ate his food with ungraceful manners, but at least, Atobe supposed, he chewed with his mouth closed and used utensils. He knew not everyone was blessed with the gracefulness of an Atobe.

At one point, Atobe asked: "You look tired."

"Yeah." Ryoma stared at the space between Atobe's brows.

"Any particular reason?"

Ryoma blinked tiredly. "Huh?"

"Any reason why you're tired?"

Ryoma shrugged – slowly and lethargically.

"Not sleeping well?" Atobe suggested.

"Yeah." He buried his face in his arms. "I'm sleepy."

Atobe observed. He wondered if he wasn't getting sleep because he was disturbed by the knowledge of Kon Nikolaj. Atobe was desperate to bring up the subject again, but his words stayed stuck in his throat. Ryoma wasn't going to give up knowledge. Atobe had come prepared for Ryoma's stubbornness, and had originally planned on using blackmail methods to get Ryoma to speak.

He knew where Ryoma's mother worked, and could easily get her fired. He could get them forced out of the country if he wanted to.

But now, watching Ryoma – with his curled form, his long lashes, his sleepy gaze – Atobe didn't have the heart to use blackmail.

_I'm becoming too soft, _Atobe sighed. He had been taught as a child that cruelty was always an option to get what you wanted. But Atobe wasn't sure if his father was right. Maybe he was right in business and marketing. But could you be cruel to someone who was twelve years old and had the tennis prowess of a pro?

Atobe couldn't. Not today.

Ryoma had fallen asleep on the table.

He looked at his sleeping form fondly for a moment, before shaking his head. This was ridiculous. He stood up and paid the bill. Then he shook Ryoma's shoulder, breaking Ryoma from sleep. The boy drowsily stared up at him. "Hmm?"

Atobe refused to think it was cute. "The evening is over. A limo is waiting outside to deliver you to your house."

Ryoma yawned and stood up. He didn't so much as glance at Atobe as he made his way to the door.

"It was my pleasure paying for you!" Atobe called.

"Goodnight, Monkey King!"

Then the door closed. He was gone.

Atobe stared at where his figure had been. Then he smirked to himself, and shook his head. He would try again later. And this time, he would make sure his feelings (as insignificant as they were) stayed in place. Being nice may have saved him guilt, but it hadn't gotten him answers.

His father was right. He had to be cruel.

He couldn't let a cute face let him forget that.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryoma had been getting nightmares for weeks.

He listlessly walked over to the dining table, burying his head in his hands the moment he sat down on the chair. His head throbbed– a pounding sensation clinging to his skull. His eyes felt heavy, and his body ached from exhaustion. He knew he needed to catch up on sleep, but Kon followed him everywhere. His dreams were almost worse than reality.

A bowl clattered in front him. Ryoma winced at the loud noise.

"Oi, brat, wakey, wakey."

Ryoma didn't respond.

"Seishounen, you're going to be late if you keep this up."

Did his father care if he was late? Ryoma doubted it. But if he wasn't getting sleep, Ryoma knew he needed food for energy. Lifting his head up, he took the spoon and stuffed cereal in his mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Ryoma took another bite, blinking to keep himself awake.

Nanjiroh watched him curiously. "Tired, kid?"

"A little." Ryoma took another bite, before pushing the bowl away. "I'm leaving." He stood up.

Nanjiroh blinked. "You ate three bites."

"Genius deduction, oyaji." Ryoma swept past him. He grabbed his Seigaku jacket from the coat hook, slipping his arms through the sleeves. As he grabbed his tennis bag, he noticed a note on the fridge from his mother. It said that she was going to be working another late shift. He smiled sleepily at the _love you _scrawled on the bottom. His mother cared about him immensely. He knew that. He didn't blame her for her long work shifts.

But sometimes, especially now, Ryoma missed his mother.

Nanjiroh caught his despondent gaze. "Cheer up, kid! That training camp is only a few weeks away!"

"Great," Ryoma said glumly.

"Tennis 24/7!" Nanjiroh reminded him. "You should be grateful."

And normally Ryoma _would _be excited for tennis all day. Tennis was his life.

But right now he was too tired and too sleepy to care about anything but the fact that his head was roaring in pain. Discretely grabbing a bottle of Advil, he shoved the painkillers in his tennis bag. He'd take one first period, and maybe grab some disgusting coffee to keep himself awake.

Nanjiroh didn't miss the painkillers. He looked like he was about to say something, but Ryoma glared at him. Nanjiroh shrugged.

"Later, kid."

"Bye." Ryoma turned on his heel, and left the front entrance.

He swayed on the front steps of his porch

Shaking his head, he steadied himself and headed for where Momo met him with his bike.

…

The painkillers helped. The caffeine was a pleasant boost. He breezed through his classes.

Ryoma felt manageably tired as he went through tennis practice. Run laps. Play a practice match with Momo. Endure bone-crushing hugs from Kikumaru. Ryoma was used to all of it. He rolled his shoulders at the end of practice, ignoring the aches in his shoulder blades. He hoped the nightmares stopped soon. He didn't know how much longer he could go without adequate sleep.

Fuji stopped him on his way out of the club room door. "You're looking a tad tired."

"I didn't sleep well," Ryoma snapped out.

"Any reason?"

"My dad was loud last night."

"I see."

Ryoma glared at him, before brushing past. He knew Fuji was perceptive. He knew Fuji could detect a lie from a mile away. But Ryoma didn't care. Fuji didn't need to pry in his business. He already had one person trying to scrounge information from him. Ryoma thought about Atobe at burgers, and his fingers curled tighter around his tennis bag strap.

He hated Atobe.

"Hey, Echizen!" Momo hollered. "Don't you wanna eat burgers?"

Ryoma lifted his hand up, indicating that he would pass. He wasn't in the mood for burgers. He was in the mood for sleep.

Languidly, Ryoma walked down the sidewalk of Tokyo. The sky was a bar of neon separating sky and trees. Children played in their front yards, summer beckoning them out from their video-game hideouts. Ryoma rubbed his eyelids, trying to keep himself awake. He just had to get home. He would get home and go straight to his bed. Swallowing thickly, Ryoma closed his pained eyelids. He continued walking steadily. He felt awful and sick and ashamed. He had thought he had gotten over what had happened in America.

But now Kon was back in Japan, and suddenly the memories were fresh and painful in his mind.

"Tired?"

Ryoma's eyes flew open. Kon Nikolaj greeted him with a nod, blowing smoke from a cigarette.

Ryoma stumbled backward. His eyes were wide, and his chest tightened. Panic swelled to his throat. On instinct, he looked around him. There were a few men on the end of the street, talking. A woman was selling ice cream outside.

He relaxed, but only marginally. His breaths felt uneven and shallow. His heartbeat swallowed him whole.

"Fancy seeing you here, huh, Ryoma?"

His name – Ryoma – felt dirty coming from Kon's mouth.

Ryoma's nails dug into his palms. His ribs felt like they were shattering. "Please go away," he finally managed.

"Go away?" Kon's voice was a low slur. "It's been so long, though. And I just arrived. It would be a pity if I left so soon, wouldn't it be?"

Ryoma took another step back. He trembled. "Stay away from me. I'll call 911."

Kon dug up his lighter. He tossed his used cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot. "Call 911? I'm merely talking to you."

"Stop it!" Ryoma begged. Unwillingly, tears flooded his eyes. "Just leave me alone!"

"Oh ho…" The man leered at him. "Breaking into tears so easily? You were so resilient the first time I met you."

Ryoma shook his head furiously. He didn't want to think about the first time. Oh _god, _the first time.

He was going to puke. He could already feel the vomit halfway up his throat.

He turned on his heel.

"You're looking even better than before, I must say."

Ryoma gagged, and started to run.

Kon called after him: "I'll find my way back to you!"

Ryoma didn't stop running. He choked on his own tears as he ran. His legs ached and his body could barely hold himself up, but he continued to run, wind rushing past his ears. His skin felt like ants were crawling over it. He coughed, and vomit rose to his lips. He swallowed it back, tasting stale and bitter.

Ryoma was a wreck by the time he reached his home. He was shaking badly. His eyes were wide and tear-ridden. He nearly fell in through his front door, gasping for air.

Nanako, who had been in the middle of adjusting a picture frame, dropped the picture frame with a clatter. "Ryoma! What's wrong?"

Nanjiroh only had to look at Ryoma once to know something was wrong. He walked over to Ryoma, gathering the shaking boy in his arms. Ryoma sobbed. He couldn't even be bothered to stop. Everything felt like it was faraway, and nothing mattered.

Why couldn't it just be over?

Nanjiroh just pressed him close to his chest, smoothing back his hair.

Ryoma cried until he lost whatever energy he had left. He passed out against his father – fatigue and emotional strain finally weighing him under. His small form lay limp against his father, the exhaustion in his face smoothing into an unconscious demeanor. His dad scooped him up and carried him to his bedroom. Nanako fretted by the sink, trying to keep herself busy.

When Nanjiroh came back down, his brows were creased in worry.

"What's wrong with Ryoma?" Nanako asked.

Nanjiroh stared at her with tired eyes. "I don't know." He turned to make himself coffee. "But I only know one person who can make my son hurt like that." He pressed his head against the cabinets, taking a shaky breath. A note from Rinko stared back at him. He whispered softly to himself, "I thought we got rid of him for good, Rinko…"

If Nanjiroh's worst fears were true, then Kon Nikolaj was back.

And that meant Ryoma was no longer safe.

…

Ryoma awoke a few hours later, head propped up on a pillow. He was in his bedroom, the window open to let in a cool breeze. Karupin crawled on his lap, paw nudging at Ryoma's right thigh. Nanako had left water and a plate of fruit on his bedside table. Still disoriented, Ryoma smiled softly, scratching Karupin behind the ear. He nestled against his blankets, staring at the shadowy walls of his room.

He flushed when he thought about Nanako and his father seeing him was certainly embarrassing_. _Ryoma yawned. At least he slept well for a few hours.

There was a knock on the door. "You awake?"

Ryoma curled into his blankets. The last thing he wanted was to talk to his father.

"Seishouneeeeen!" Nanjiroh whined from the other end.

Ryoma curled deeper. "Go away!"

"Aha! So you _are _awake."

Did he mention he hated his dad? Even more than Atobe. And that was definitely saying something.

Nanjiroh burst into the room dressed in his usual monk robes. He chuckled at Ryoma's half-buried state, leaning against the doorframe. "I only came up here to offer you some magazines. They definitely help when you're sick." He waved a magazine with a bikini-clad girl on the cover. "I'll even give you my new edition."

Ryoma propped himself up. "Can you leave?"

"Whyyy?"

"You're a nuisance."

"Hey, take that back! I'm your father, you know. You ought to treat me with more respect."

Ryoma rubbed his forehead. "Stupid old man. What do you really want?"

Nanjiroh's easygoing expressed changed to a serious one in a span of what appeared to be less than a second. He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Ryoma's bed. Ryoma waited for him to say something, but his father just stared at his tennis posters, looking deep in thought. Rolling his eyes, Ryoma cuddled into his blankets. Maybe he could fit in another hour of sleep.

Five minutes later, Nanjiroh groaned. "I guess we have to talk about it."

Ryoma blinked. "Talk about it?"

"You're breakdown." Nanjiroh rubbed his cheeks. "I'd rather be, you know, enjoying myself, but – I mean, there's you to take care of."

"I don't need you to take care of me."

Nanjiroh snorted. "Please. You don't even know how to do the laundry."

"You don't either! Nanako-san does it."

"I do your socks!"

"_One time _doesn't count."

Nanjiroh groaned again, this time more exasperatedly. "Just explain."

"Explain _what_?"

"You're breakdown."

Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut because tears were already burning behind his lashes. He blinked furiously. "I don't want to," he said, his throat raspy. "It's not…like telling you will help anyway."

Nanjiroh studied him. Karupin made a mewling noise. Finally, his father said quietly, "Is it him?"

Ryoma tensed. "Him?"

"You know who I'm talking about."

There was no point in lying anymore. His father knew him too well. Probably some kind of tennis connection.

Ryoma slumped his shoulders. "Yes," he whispered.

Nanjiroh's eyes hardened. "What did he do?"

"Nothing."

"_Ryoma._"

When Nanjiroh called him by his actual name, Ryoma knew he was serious. He stared at his patterned bedspread. "He's in Japan. He wants to be the tennis coach at Hyotei. He's offering them ¥12093500 to replace their current coach." Ryoma's hand clenched around the fabric of his bedspread. "I don't know what he's trying to do."

Nanjiroh furrowed his brow. "Hyotei? As a tennis coach?"

Ryoma shrugged.

Nanjiroh observed his son. "Is there anything else?"

"Eh?"

"Is there anything else?" Nanjiroh repeated.

Ryoma shifted uncomfortably. He didn't meet Nanjiroh's eyes. "He approached me today. And said some stuff."

Nanjiroh's face lit fire at those words. "That's it! That bastard."

"Oyaji-"

He hopped off the bed. "Don't you worry seishounen! That dirty bastard is going to regret he ever messed with an Echizen!"

Ryoma panicked. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a rich friend. He'll take care of this."

"Huh?" Ryoma was utterly confused.

Nanjiroh patted his head. "Don't you worry."

"Oyaji-" Ryoma growled.

"Hora, hora! Hora, hora…" Nanjiroh sang as he ambled out of Ryoma's bedroom. Ryoma stared at his retreating figure, then hit his head into his pillow.

What the hell was his stupid father planning on doing?


	5. Chapter 5

Shigeo Atobe was a powerful man.

Between running the second-largest company in Japan, owning a million-dollar reality show, and running prestigious outdoor events, he was soaking in money. But money didn't always lead to happiness, and Shigeo knew this better than anyone. Rolling his shoulders, he took a drag from his cigarette, sorting through an abundant stack of files.

A contract… bills…

Shigeo had a headache. He almost wanted to take off and leave everything behind – but he knew that would set a bad example for Atobe. Success was greater than happiness, and on late nights, with caffeine pumping through his brain, he needed to remind himself of this. He took a file, skimming over its material.

And then the damned telephone rang.

Shigeo cursed into the quiet of his office. Abandoning his work, he grabbed his phone and yanked it to his ear. He wanted to growl, "What the hell do you want?" but that wouldn't do in the corporate world. Instead, composed himself, and responded: "Shigeo Atobe."

"Oi, Shigeo!"

Shigeo winced. "Nanjiroh? This isn't a good time."

"You're always busy. Don't you remember the high school days? Ahh, all those pretty girls were always chasing after you." Nanjiroh dramatically sobbed. "You weren't even half as charming as I was! I don't know what they saw in you…"

Shigeo sighed, but his eyes crinkled. "Why would you call at this hour?"

Nanjiroh was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I need a favor."

"A favor? Your son is already enrolled in the training camp.

"Yes." Nanjiroh paused. "A bigger favor."

Shigeo wasn't keen on giving favors. Nanjiroh and he weren't even particularly close, although they had spent much of high school together. But he also had a reputation to uphold as a kind and giving businessman. He already donated to several charities to keep up his image. He also figured helping a friend couldn't hurt. Especially if that friend was a former pro – Shigeo imagined in the future Nanjiroh could repay him by helping Atobe get into the pro circuit.

"What is it?" Shigeo finally amended.

Nanjiroh made a sound of victory. "I have a problem."

"What is it?"

"Do you know Kon Nikolaj?"

Shigeo's eyes widened. Kon Nikolaj was a multimillionaire. "What about him?"

Nanjiroh was quiet for a moment. The silence stretched over the telephone cord, ringing in Shigeo's ears.

"I need you take him down."

* * *

"I can't do that."

"Shigeo!" Nanjiroh sounded outraged. "He's a danger to the other kids. Didn't you just hear what he did to my son?"

"I understand." Shigeo rubbed his temple. "He did quite a horrible thing. But I'm afraid I can't afford to give up that much."

"C'mon, you're rich!"

"Nanjiroh-"

"Can you think about others, for once? Your goddamn son is in that school!"

Shigeo licked his lips. "Atobe has personal security."

"Still, you're letting that monster coach the tennis team?"

Shigeo closed his eyes. "I want to help. But I can't."

"It's only a million dollars."

"Only?" Shigeo said tiredly. "That's a lot of money."

"Not for you."

Shigeo's patience was running thin. He understood that Nanjiroh was upset about what happened to his son, and wanted Kon out of the country, but Shigeo couldn't afford to give Hyotei a million dollars to override Kon's deal. He also didn't have the money to bribe Kon into leaving the country. He was rich, but not _that _rich.

"You know you could do it if you wanted to."

And Nanjiroh was right. If it really mattered to him – benefitted him – he _would _do it.

But why take a chunk out of his business to help a twelve-year old kid?

He knew Atobe would be safe. He had personal security right at his fingertips. Even if Kon attempted to hurt his son, Atobe had a security gadget latched onto the insides of his shoes, on his Bluetooth, and his wristband. If Atobe needed help, there was always a way for him to reach the police. As for the rest of Hyotei…

Honestly, Shigeo didn't care.

He wasn't a millionaire because he was kind.

He was a millionaire because he was ruthless.

"Sorry, Nanjiroh."

"Wait-"

Shigeo sighed. "I'm not changing my mind."

"I know." Nanjiroh took a breath. "But- for the training camp, can you at least tell your son to look after Ryoma."

"Look after him?"

"Atobe has personal security. I won't be able to watch Ryoma at the camp, and I don't want Kon trying to hurt him again. Maybe send a couple of your bodyguards?"

Shigeo rubbed his forehead. "If I do that, will you stop pestering me about this matter?"

"Yes," Nanjiroh said quietly.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do."

He was about to hang up, but Nanjiroh stopped him. "Hey, Shigeo?"

"Yes?"

"When's the last time you've had a friend call you?"

Shigeo's throat tightened. "What?"

"Exactly."

Shigeo swallowed.

Then Nanjiroh cackled lightheartedly. "See you later, Shigeo! I'm off to read some porn!"

He hung up, leaving Shigeo to finish off his paperwork, trying to wash away the guilt clinging in his throat with the reminder of what his real priorities were.

* * *

Atobe had had what could only be described as a horrible day.

He had lost two marks on his Greek test which had ruined his perfect record in the class. He had been set to win the academic award, but now he wasn't so sure. There were a lot of brainiacs at Hyotei, and only perfection rose above the rest. To make matters worse, the student council had decided to have a vote to decide if Kon Nikolaj would be the new coach. It had ended with a unanimous vote for Kon Nikolaj's favor, with only Atobe and Oishitari voting against.

Atobe wasn't sure if Kon Nikolaj was a true threat, but he had wanted time to come to a conclusion before the decision had been made.

It was definitely not Atobe's ideal day.

"Atobe-sama." His butler bowed, before removing Atobe's coat.

"Run a bath for me," Atobe said tiredly. "I would also like dinner brought to my room."

"Right away." The butler bowed again. Then he paused. "Although, before you head to your room, your father requested to see you."

Atobe stopped in his tracks. His _father _wanted to _see _him? Those two words were rarely in the same sentence. His father was always too busy to speak with him, and only concerned him with petty matters like advertising or security. He respected his father greatly, but spending time with him was always awkward.

"Is it urgent?"

"He said it is necessary you see him as soon as possible."

It was really not Atobe's day. Ignoring the frustrated protest in the back of his mouth, Atobe merely nodded. "Still run a bath. It shouldn't take long."

"Right away." The butler bowed again, and left the room.

He supposed there was no delaying it. Atobe headed for his father's study, steps quick and compact. However, when he approached the door, he could do nothing but stare at it. He hadn't talked to his father in almost a week. It was easy to avoid him in their large mansion, particularly because his father never really gave a shit about him. Atobe bit his lower lip. He knew if he wanted to be a successful heir, he needed to stop thinking petty thoughts like that.

He wasn't a child anymore that he needed his father's attention.

Shaking his head, Atobe knocked on the door.

"Come in," his father replied.

The study looked the same as Atobe had seen it the last time he had been here. His father's large desk was scattered with paper. A maid stood by his side, refilling coffee. She left when she saw Atobe come in. A large window for natural sunlight was adorned on the opposite wall, but the curtains were drawn firmly shut. Atobe didn't think he'd ever seen the curtains open.

"Father." Atobe nodded, taking a seat across from him. His father didn't respond, sipping on his coffee and looking over a booklet. Atobe noticed there were thin, almost unnoticeable gray streaks in his father's hair, and the barest beginnings of wrinkles on his face. He was wearing an expensive flannel with a thick gold necklace around his neck.

After ten minutes, his father put away his paperwork, and looked up. His heavy gray eyes lightened briefly. "Keigo."

"Father," Atobe repeated. He ignored the clench of his stomach.

His father didn't take long to cut to the chase. There were no "How are you doing?" and "How is the tennis team?" "Or, are you feeling okay?"

Instead, he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Atobe nodded. He pushed aside any hurt he felt. "Of course."

His father steepled his fingers against his chin, and leaned forward. His face was serious; drawn into a frown. "Do you know Echizen Ryoma?"

Atobe started. "Echizen?"

"He's a Seigaku regular."

"I know him." Atobe raised a brow. Where was this going?

His father nodded. "He's attending the summer training camp in July."

"The Hyotei training camp?" Atobe pursed his lips. "I don't understand."

"I know his father." His father sighed, as if he wished he didn't know Ryoma's father. "I allowed Ryoma to attend after much pestering from his dad."

Great. The brat would be training with them. Atobe smirked. This would actually be interesting.

His father noticed his smirk, and frowned. "Is there something funny?"

Atobe's face immediately went blank. "No, father. It was just unexpected." He looked away, staring at the sleek oak desk. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Ryoma's father requested that you take care of him during the training camp."

Atobe jerked his head up. "Excuse me?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "You heard me. You are to take care of Ryoma and protect him at all costs – unless, of course, it risks your own life. There will be bodyguards to aid you, so there shouldn't be much of a problem."

"But-"

"Is that a yes?" His father's voice was light, but Atobe understood the meaning underneath it. He didn't have an option.

"Of course I will." He scoffed, turning his head to the side. This was ridiculous. He wasn't a _babysitter. _What did the brat need someone taking care of him for anyway? It wasn't like the training camp they were going to was dangerous or something. His father was probably spoiling him. Atobe wasn't one to talk, but even _he_ didn't have someone to take _care _of him.

Ridiculous.

He had enough on his plate as it was.

"Stop sulking," his father demanded. "This isn't a hard request."

Atobe crossed his arms. "I don't understand why Echizen needs me to look after him."

His father eyed him. After a long moment, he sighed. "If you must know, his father wants to make sure he stays safe from Kon Nikolaj."

At those words, Atobe was suddenly paying rapt attention. He straightened up, his blue eyes widening a fraction. Keeping his voice steady, he asked, casually: "Really? Why would Ryoma need protection from him?"

His father shook his head briefly. "It's a trite matter."

"I'm curious," Atobe insisted, almost pressingly.

His father flashed him a look, but consented. "A few years ago, Kon Nikolaj started a private business in addition to his growing company. It was hidden to an intense extent, and it was never brought to the public eye."

"A business?"

"Yes." His father looked reluctant to continue. "Sex trafficking."

Atobe blinked. Then he blinked some more. "He started a _what_?"

"You heard me." His father sighed.

"Why would he do that?" Atobe said forlornly. "He was already rich."

His father grimaced. "He didn't just start the business. He participated in it."

Atobe stared at his father. "That's vile."

"I suppose it is." His father cleared his throat. "It started off as just women, but it grew rapidly, and he – he started to make it less about consent, and more about sex slavery. He…" Atobe couldn't believe his ears. "He started selling people – not just adults, but kids too – to different customers."

Atobe could barely breathe. "What?" he said hoarsely. This man was going to be their tennis coach? He swallowed down the sick feeling in his throat. "How does this have to do with Echizen, though? He was always…scared of him. Don't tell me…" And suddenly Atobe felt like he was going to vomit, all over his father's study.

"It's rather unfortunate." His father shrugged. "He found Ryoma alone one night, and found him… worthy. I don't really know the details. His father brushed over that part. But he forced him into the industry."

"He kidnapped him?" Atobe trembled.

"I suppose." His father rubbed his forehead. "And sold him to a few customers. Himself included."

Now Atobe actually didn't think he was breathing. He could taste bile at the back of his threat, and the thudding of his heart roaring over his body. This couldn't be true. Echizen Ryoma – cute, sleepy-eyed, tennis star – Echizen Ryoma. Atobe squeezed his eyes shut, because even if he didn't know Ryoma well, this hurt. This hurt _bad. _Ryoma was so many things. Cocky. Talented. Smart. Prodigious. But he wasn't a _sex _slave.

His father continued talking, but Atobe felt like he was underwater, and the words blew past him.

"Nanjiroh – Ryoma's father – eventually figured out what was going on. He found his son. He got Kon Nikolaj arrested. But Kon is rich, and he was easily able to cover up the truth. He cleared himself from court, and made sure the scandal stayed down. I'm sure Ryoma's father could have started some media upheaval… but he was probably looking out for his son by keeping it quiet as well." Shigeo paused. "They moved to Japan to get away from him, and to allow Ryoma to heal."

Atobe shook his head rapidly. "Father-"

"So look after him at the training camp, okay? That's all I had to discuss with you."

"Father-" Atobe's voice and eyes were uncharacteristically wild. "He's being a tennis coach at our school. You have to do something."

His father blinked. "I'm aware of that."

"Huh?" The fire died from Atobe's eyes. "You already know?"

"Keigo," his father said matter-of-factly. "He's not going to be able to hurt you. You have your security gadgets at all times. I've also talked to the school board about the bodyguard rule, and they were willing to bend it for you. You'll be safe."

"Me?" Atobe said blankly. "I'm not talking about me. It's the whole tennis team."

His father looked disappointed in him. "Keigo, who cares about what happens to them?"

The words felt like a slap to the face. Who _cares_? They were his teammates. He stared at his father, and felt this sick, twisting in his intestines, like he had ate too much middle-class food in one night. He suddenly lost the respect he had held for his father – it drained from his eyes, leaving an empty, angry pit in his stomach.

"You're just as bad as him."

"Excuse me?"

"You're just as bad as Kon Nikolag!" Atobe spat.

His father stood up, raising a hand. "Keigo!"

But Atobe wasn't about to be hit by his father. He already felt like he had taken a blow. He turned on his heel, and stormed out of the study before his father could do a thing. His mind was whirling. Ryoma's sleepy face popped in his mind, and he brushed it away, because it hurt to think about him. But it was his father – his uncaring, selfish, cold father – that broke Atobe the most.

"I hate him," he muttered to himself. He entered the quiet mansion, exiting his father's study.

"Atobe-sama." His butler awaited him. "The bath is waiting."

And Atobe wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and throw a tantrum.

But he just a slid a placid smile on his face and followed his butler out of the room.

* * *

I just wanted to reply to reviews from the last chapter. I'm not going to do this each time, but I wanted to reiterate how much I appreciate my readers and reviewers. It warms me that people read and enjoy my story.

KuroTamashii-chan: Haha, yeah, I'm a big fan of protective-Nanjiroh, so even if I don't plan him in the story, he always ends up popping in somehow. Thank you for leaving a review!

SnowyIce: Thank you for your kind words! I hope the Shigeo/Nanjiroh conversation didn't disappoint hehe.

Julieth: I feel like I'm rather predictable with what happened (i.e Kon raping Ryoma), but I hope the twist makes it a little more exciting (or not exciting, because sex trafficking is not an exciting thing). You have parrots? That's incredibly cool. All in all, thank you for your kind words.

FirstWave: This just warms my little heart up, haha. Thank you so much! I adore Atobe and Ryoma's chemistry too. Your compliments about my story and writing style make me blush, hehe. Thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

Ryoma didn't expect to forget about Kon, but summer was always a busy time. Between tennis practice and burgers with his senpai, he barely had _time _to think about Kon. It was only at night when the nightmares came back – twisting and curling in his brain – that he remembered. But his father had given him Prazosin pills to ease them, and now even that constant reminder was fading away.

The last day of school came quicker than expected, and Ryoma relished the freedom. He didn't mind school, but homework was a waste of time, especially when he was planning to head to the pro circuit anyway.

"Freedom!" Momo cried, slinging an arm around Ryoma. "Ahh, I don't think I've felt the sun on my face in so long! Those stupid exams are finally over! I studied day and night for those darned things."

Ryoma shrugged off his arm. "Don't be dramatic, Momo-senpai. Knowing you, you probably spent half the time playing video games in your room."

"Stop being so rude," Momo scolded, swatting his head lightly.

Ryoma swatted his hand back. "Don't be so stupid then."

Momo lagged behind him, whining, "You really don't treat me like a senpai, you know that?"

"Momo-senpai doesn't _act _like a senpai."

More whining persisted.

Ryoma enjoyed Momo's company. Even though Momo wasn't an exceptional tennis player, he ruffled Ryoma's hair and treated him to burgers and had become Ryoma's first friend. In America, friends had been foreign to Ryoma. After what had happened to him, he had withdrawn into himself, not trusting anyone.

People in America weren't tolerant enough to push past that barrier. But Momo had been. So had the other regulars.

Ryoma appreciated that more than he would ever say.

Momo yawned. "Wanna get tacos? This new taco shop opened up."

"Sounds good. You treating?"

Momo grumbled, "When _don't _I?"

They bickered their way past the summer streets. The sun was high in a bright blue sky, and kids free from school were taking advantage of the first day of summer break. In less than ten minutes, the two of them arrived at the new taco shop, located between a Chinese cuisine and a thrift store.

The taco shop had nice décor with black-and-white tiled floors and coral walls. The tables and chairs were styled like a preppy bar, and the man at the counter, along with his stained apron, wore a welcoming smile. Momo came back from the counter carrying a tray overloaded with wrapped tacos and two soft drinks. He had a huge grin on his face.

"Ooh! It smells so good!" Momo did not hesitate to dive right in. Through a mouthful, he said, "It tastes so good too!"

Ryoma rolled his eyes, and unwrapped his own taco. "You're acting like you've never had a taco before."

"When you're hungry, _everything _feels like you haven't had it before."

"You're always hungry."

Momo chuckled, and continued to stuff his face.

Ryoma ate his own taco, closing his eyes. The sun from the window felt warm on his face. He could hear Momo babbling about how hard his math exam was from across the table, and his tennis bag leaned against his thigh, reminding him of his exhilarating game with Fuji earlier in the day. The stress of school was gone, leaving a summer full of tennis ahead of him.

Right now, in this moment, Ryoma felt _good._

It was rare feeling and he cherished it.

"There was this weird question about slope but they didn't give us the right angle! So of course I asked my sensei about it but she wouldn't give any- Oi! Listen to your senpai when he's speaking!"

Ryoma blinked. "I was listening."

"Liar."

"You were talking about how you failed your math exam," Ryoma said cheekily.

"I didn't _fail._" Momo scoffed.

"Sure, Momo-senpai."

"I _didn't_," Momo insisted.

Ryoma was about to reply, but Momo cut in. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Confusion swept over his face. "What?"

"You're back to yourself." Momo smiled. "You were really worrying us for the past few weeks."

Ryoma frowned. They had noticed his exhaustion? "I was fine."

Momo shrugged. "You always seemed tired and moody, and never wanted to hang out. We were concerned."

"I – " Ryoma's throat burned, because he wasn't used to people aside from his family caring for him. He didn't think any of his senpai-tachi had noticed. But because Momo was right and he _was_ feeling like himself again, he just smirked. "Momo-senpai is so soft."

"Hey! I was having a heart-to-heart."

"Only girls do that."

"Take that back, Echizen." Momo's eyes narrowed. "Or I'll take your taco."

Ryoma held his taco protectively. "You wouldn't."

"I _would-_"

The door chimed signalling another customer. Ryoma glanced up, and the taco suddenly felt cold in his mouth.

Kon Nikolaj strode in, heading straight for the counter. He was wearing a gold vest, and his dark hair curled around his ears. Ryoma stared at the back of his head, and felt that familiar empty coldness fill his body whole again. His hand trembled, and his eyes, wide and filled with fear, stared at the man across the shop.

Of course, even if Momo was dense, he wasn't clueless. "Oi, Echizen, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Ryoma continued to stare at Kon, his heart vibrating against his ribcage. Any warmth from the window was drowned by the memories that still pierced his brain, grinding permanently into his fragile state. Ryoma couldn't eat anymore. The taco he had finished churned in his stomach, threatening to be heaved out.

"I have to go." Ryoma stood up quickly. His eyes were already blurring with tears. He had to leave before Kon noticed him. He didn't want Kon looking at him. He hadn't wanted Kon looking at him three years ago, and that hadn't changed.

"What-Echizen-"

"You can have my taco." Ryoma slung his tennis bag over his shoulder. He hurried in the opposite direction, but a hand clamped on his wrist.

Ryoma flinched, and panicked. But it was only Momo, violet eyes drowning in concern. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Ryoma's eyes darted to Kon. The man was still ordering, and hadn't noticed them. "Let me go. I have to _go._"

Momo followed his line of vision. His face darkened. "Is that guy bothering you?"

"No – Momo-senpai – just _leave it_-"

"I'll give him a piece of my mind if he is."

"Momo-senpai-"

Ryoma watched in horror as Momo marched up to Kon Nikolaj. Ryoma shrunk against the seat, trying to keep his breathing steady. The first year after Kon had enslaved him, he had had random panic attacks. His dad had always told him to focus on his breathing. Ryoma closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he took another breath, letting the air rush into his lungs. His hands were warm with sweat, and his heart rung in his ears – but he breathed.

His heart beat had nearly slowed to normal when he heard the sound of an impending crack. Ryoma's eyes flew open.

Kon Nikolaj grasped the counter, holding a bloody nose.

Momo was glaring at him. "I don't know what you did, but you stay away from Ryoma."

The friendly man by the counter no longer looked friendly. "Hey! This a new business! We don't need a bad reputation."

Momo slapped an extra few yen on the man's counter, shutting him up. His eyes were still trained on Kon. "You hear me? You leave him alone."

Blood smeared Kon's ugly mouth. His eyes were slits. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut. _Momo-senpai, please don't point to me, please don't point to me-_

"If you ever hurt him – " Momo pointed to Ryoma. "You're as good as dead."

Ryoma could barely manage to stay rooted on the spot. Every instinct in his body was telling him to flee. Kon's eyes met his eyes, and even with a bloody nose, a smirk rose to his lips, a creepy leer Ryoma was all too familiar with. He purposefully rode his gaze all over Ryoma's body, knowing it would make Ryoma squirm.

It worked. Ryoma shuddered and looked away.

But then Kon looked to Momo. His smile was smug and powerful. "I'll leave. You can have my order, free of charge. Have a nice day."

Momo looked confused. "Huh?"

Kon brushed past him, heading for the door. But before he left, he turned around and looked at Ryoma. "You enjoy yourself too, yeah?"

Ryoma's toes curled into his shoes. His eyes averted to the floor, and the only thing keeping him from melting down was the knowledge that he was in a public place. Then Kon was gone, leaving the room hot and stuffy. Ryoma's eyes were wet when Momo approached him, and he rubbed at them with the sleeve of his shirt.

Momo chewed on his lower lip. "Yeah, that was weird."

"I told you not to!"

"What?" Momo looked taken aback.

"I said to leave it. Why didn't you just leave it?"

"Because you were scared of him?" Momo said. "You're never scared of people. I knew he must have been a complete asshole."

"I hate you," Ryoma said darkly.

"Wait- Echizen – "

Without waiting for a reply, Ryoma stormed out of the taco shop. He saw Kon's limousine just turning the corner of the street. Holding back tears, he went the other way, trying but failing to control his emotions. He hated this. He hated everything that made his perfect composure crumble. He hated outbursts and getting visibly angry and – he hated showing his vulnerable side, even to people he trusted like Momo.

He was supposed to be cool, apathetic Echizen.

Not angry, emotional, moody Echizen.

Ryoma kicked a stone, watching it skid across the sidewalk.

He didn't even know what to feel anymore. Every time he felt happy, Kon would snatch that happiness away.

Ryoma walked down the sidewalk for almost a half an hour, trying to calm his racing heart and confused emotions. The warm summer air and rolling green grass made it easier to stop worrying, and by the time he reached a set of tennis courts, he was feeling okay again. Scared and miserable, but okay.

He sat down on one of the burning benches, watching random tennis players play a match in front of him. They were pretty good, and Ryoma relaxed and observed the game.

Even if he wasn't playing, tennis never failed to soothe him.

But all good things must come to an end. That was what Ryoma thought when he heard a certain Monkey King's voice.

"Well, if isn't the brat." Atobe Keigo slid into the bench next to him.

Ryoma`s hands clenched in his lap. "If you say Kon's name, I'm going to punch you."

Atobe winced. "I'm not here for that."

Ryoma glared at him. Atobe pretended to be absorbed by his racquet strings.

When Ryoma couldn't stand the silence anymore, he said: "Then what _are _you doing?"

"If you must know, I came to play tennis." Atobe sniffed. "You're not so special, you know."

"Then play tennis," Ryoma pressed.

Atobe shrugged. "The courts are occupied."

Ryoma snorted. "And that's going to stop the great _ore-sama_?" he mocked.

"You're a brat. Someone needs to teach you manners."

"You're a Monkey. I don't know how you got left behind when everyone else evolved." Ryoma was pleased with his insult, and was even more pleased when he saw Atobe's brow twitch.

But there was also something weird about the way Atobe was acting with him. He wouldn't make eye contact, looking everywhere but directly at Ryoma. But whenever Ryoma looked away, he could feel Atobe studying him, trying to figure something out.

"What is it?" he asked.

Atobe looked away again. "Nothing," he said quietly to himself. "You just don't seem…"

Ryoma stared at him.

"Nothing," Atobe repeated.

Silence spread over them. Ryoma resumed watching the tennis match, but he couldn't focus. Not when he could feel Atobe's eyes bleeding into his back, raking over his body. It made him uncomfortable. He knew Atobe wasn't looking at him the way Kon did, but he still felt _weird. _Especially because Atobe never acted like this.

"Is there something wrong?" Ryoma finally said. He had meant to sound annoyed, but his voice came out soft instead.

Atobe met his eyes this time. "Ore-sama… just thinks you're quite a good tennis player."

Ryoma arched a brow. When Atobe seemed sincere, he responded, "That's because you're mada mada dane."

Atobe didn't reply to the insult, and Ryoma grew increasingly worried. He didn't know why Atobe was acting weird with him. Huffing to himself, he turned slightly, trying to focus on the tennis match. One side was losing sorely now, making the game a lot more boring to watch. The sun was still bright in the sky, warming his cheeks and neck. A long ten minutes of silence passed. Atobe sat still beside him, a direct contrast to Momo and Kikumaru's usual fidgeting.

Ryoma stood up abruptly. This was a waste of time.

"Where are you going?" Atobe asked.

"Home."

"Oh." Atobe's eyes grew panicked, as if he needed an excuse to make Ryoma stay. "Ah- wait! Ore-sama must announce something."

Ryoma stopped, giving him a look. "Then announce it."

Atobe narrowed his eyes at him. "I heard you're coming to the summer training camp with us."

"Che. How'd you know?"

"My father mentioned it to me." Ryoma noticed Atobe's eyes darken at the word _father._ He didn't comment.

"Hmm. I'm only coming to beat a certain Monkey's ass."

"You take that back!"

"Make me." Ryoma smirked.

Atobe opened his mouth to retort, but then shut it. He stared at Ryoma for a long moment, and Ryoma thought he saw pity. Then he averted his gaze, unable to look at him. "Well, head off now," he said. He paused, unsurely. "Would you like ore-sama to walk you home?"

Ryoma blinked. He must have heard wrong. "_What_?"

"Ore-sama can walk you home."

What the hell was this all about? Ryoma didn't know. All he knew was that they were tennis rivals with an almost fiery dislike for each other. And Atobe Keigo, who claimed to be the best of the best, never, ever offered to walk someone home. Especially not Ryoma. There was something else going on.

"What's going on?" Ryoma asked suspiciously.

Atobe wouldn't meet his eyes. "Nothing is going on. You should be grateful ore-sama is offering."

"Don't lie to me." Ryoma snickered. "You surprisingly suck at lying."

Atobe glared. "Ore-sama does not _suck_ at anything." His expression changed immediately. "Or maybe you're right."

What the fuck?

"Stop doing that," Ryoma demanded.

"Doing what?" Atobe twitched.

"You keep changing your mind. Are you trying to be nice or something?"

Atobe worried his lip between his teeth. "It's nothing of that sort."

"You were doing it before too. You kept staring at me but you would look away when I looked back at you."

Atobe flushed in what Ryoma guessed was embarrassment. "An Atobe doesn't do anything of that kind. It would be a humiliation."

"I _saw _you," Ryoma pressed out. He knew he was poking at Atobe's temper. But he didn't care.

"Maybe you weren't paying proper attention," Atobe snapped.

"I have the best vision in Seigaku aside from Kikumaru-senpai," Ryoma retorted.

"Yeah? What happened to that _best _vision when you let Kon kidnap you?"

Ryoma froze. His face drained of color. "What did you say?"

Atobe looked guilty. "Ore-sama apologizes. That was insensitive."

Ryoma's heart filled his ears once more. "How do you know?" He could feel his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear his own words. They felt distant and faraway. Nobody was supposed to know. This was supposed to be his fresh start. Atobe _couldn't _know. Atobe wasn't allowed to know. How the hell did he know?

"You don't know – you don't know anything."

Atobe's blue eyes were sad. "I'm aware of what happened."

"You don't know," Ryoma repeated. He shook his head in denial. "You're not allowed to."

Ryoma had never drowned before, but he imagined this was what it felt like – this trembling fear that squeezed his lungs and sent him sinking into a place he wished he didn't have to go. He shook his head again, trying to clear the heavy weight in his mind. The afternoon with Kon at the taco shop came back to him, and his stomach tightened like a balloon.

Atobe couldn't know. If he knew, Ryoma didn't want him looking at him. He didn't want Atobe to look at him.

He turned to run, but Atobe grabbed his wrist. The action sent fear in his fragile state of mind. He flinched, and pushed Atobe way.

"Wait-Echizen-"

"Fuck you. Fuck you." Ryoma quivered.

"I can explain."

"You just had to find out, didn't you?" Ryoma's voice was dark and mean. "You couldn't leave it alone until you knew."

"My father told me," Atobe said. "It wasn't like that."

"Really? What was it like?" Ryoma hated Atobe. But he hated himself even more, in a deep, dark way he never let surface.

Atobe's eyes grew frustrated. "At least listen to me."

"Listen to you?" Ryoma wanted to hurt Atobe. He wanted to hurt Atobe because Atobe _knew. _"I'm not going to listen to you because you don't have thoughts of your own. I bet you just listen to what your father says like a goddamned puppet."

Atobe's eyes went dark and cruel. "Don't get mad at me because you had sex with random strangers. It wasn't my fault, was it?"

Ryoma's heart stopped.

Atobe's expression changed to guilt.

But it was too late.

"Echizen-"

Ryoma brought his fist back and punched him.

Hard.


	7. Chapter 7

Atobe dabbed at his bruising cheek with his handkerchief, wondering if he should be grateful that Ryoma spared his eyes and nose.

Beside him on the bench, Ryoma had returned to sitting, poking at the strings of his racquet. He wouldn't look at Atobe, but the tenseness of his shoulders and back was evidence that he was thinking about the conversation. They had said nothing after the punch. Ryoma hadn't apologized, and neither had Atobe.

Sitting on the bench like nothing had happened was an option both favored.

Atobe winced. His cheek hurt. Ryoma was officially deadly. Whipping out his carry-along mirror, Atobe observed his face. Damn it. How was he supposed to show this magnificent self in public with _this _on his precious skin? It was a good thing school had let out. Maybe he would hide out in his room while his servants prepared a face cream to heal the bruising.

He glanced over at Ryoma who was still prodding at the strings of his racquet. Atobe glared at his head. Did he even care that he had ruined Atobe's face? The insolent brat was not looking the slightest bit guilty of his act of violence.

But then Atobe's eyes softened. His gaze rode over Ryoma's small frame and soft head of hair. He still couldn't believe Ryoma was a victim of sex slavery.

Atobe thought that only happened in third-world countries. It seemed more likely that it could happen in Japan than in America. Then again, being the son of a businessman, he knew that a lot of things often weren't shed light on in first-world countries. It was easy to assume sex slavery only happened in poor places because it was constantly being broadcasted on the news.

Atobe wondered how Ryoma lived with himself after experiencing something so horrific.

"Don't pity me."

Atobe lifted his head. "Ahn?"

"Don't pity me." Ryoma's eyes were like burning amber. "You don't have to feel bad. We're not even close."

Atobe licked his lips. "Who said I was pitying you?"

"Your stupid Monkey face gave it away."

"You punched me," Atobe pointed out.

Ryoma looked pleased. "A very good punch too."

Atobe scowled, but it didn't stay long on his face. He looked over to where the sun was blending with the crown of trees behind the court. Anger slashed through Atobe like a knife. He wanted to kill Kon Nikolaj. He wanted to choke him to death, until his gleaming eyes and putrid smirk went empty and cold.

His own thoughts terrified him. He closed his eyes, and took a breath. What happened to Ryoma wasn't his business.

Except now it was. He was supposed to protect a kid who punched him in the face.

He snuck a glance at Ryoma. "Ore-sama has to protect you."

Ryoma looked at him, and glared hard. He was clearly still mad. "You don't have to do anything."

"I unfortunately do. My father is making me protect you during the training camp."

Ryoma snorted. "I don't need protection."

"Well, you clearly did a couple years ago."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not like your customers. I'm not interested in _fucking, _as you put it."

Ryoma was trembling again. Atobe wondered why he kept being so insensitive. He just didn't know how else to touch on the subject, and his mouth kept moving on its own accord. Swallowing hard, he reached for the skin between Ryoma's neck and shoulder, and squeezed in a gesture of comfort. Ryoma breath hitched. Atobe's face burned.

They sat there awkwardly. After a few long, humiliating seconds, Atobe removed his hand.

Silence.

Then Ryoma said: "You suck at comforting people."

Atobe unwillingly flushed. "It was an intimate shoulder squeeze. I thought I performed the gesture perfectly."

Ryoma snickered. "Did you read a book on this?"

Atobe flushed harder. He knew he should have never tried being nice to the brat. "I was trying to relieve you of your tension."

"You should be a therapist," Ryoma remarked. "My old therapist was just like you. She tried to awkwardly comfort me all the time. I just glared at her."

Atobe sniffed. "I would obviously be good at anything, but a therapist hardly gets paid the amount I deserve."

Ryoma looked slightly amazed. "And I thought _I _was cocky."

"You're still an amateur. I'm the _king._"

Ryoma snickered again. Atobe wondered if that was his way of laughing without really laughing. A silence once again spread over them, but it was comfortable. Ryoma had stopped prodding with his racquet, and instead was leaning back against the bench, staring at the sky. His eyes were bright and gold and Atobe suddenly felt this gnawing in his stomach. This gnawing that made him look away and shake his head.

He liked sitting with Ryoma quietly. It relaxed him from his hectic schedule. But he also knew that they weren't friends, but rivals. He needed to keep it that way.

"You know," Atobe said suddenly. "He's our new coach."

Ryoma shot up. "He is?"

Atobe frowned. "Our student council had a vote. The paperwork will take a while to be sorted, but he's going to be our coach in a few months."

Ryoma clenched his racquet, shaking his head. "I told you not to."

"I didn't have a _choice,_" Atobe snapped. "It was a vote, and since you refused to tell me what Kon was capable of, I didn't put up much of a fight."

Ryoma jerked his head to him. His eyes were on fire. "Would _you _want to tell someone this?" His mouth quivered. "It makes me sick to just think about you knowing."

"Other people are in danger now because you didn't tell me.

"It wasn't my fault!" Ryoma sounded unsure of himself. Shaky and unsure. "I just didn't want anyone to know."

Atobe felt guilty again. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryoma's small form shook. "It's not okay. Get rid of him."

"I can't!"

"I thought you ruled the school. You always bragged about that."

Atobe pressed his fingers against his nose. "I _do_ rule the school. But this isn't something I'm in control of."

"What about your father?" Ryoma spat. "Can't you get him to do something?"

"I can't," Atobe said.

"Why not?" Ryoma challenged.

"Because he's an asshole," Atobe blurted out.

Ryoma blinked, his argument dying on his tongue. He turned back away from Atobe. "Oh," he said.

Atobe ran a frustrated hand through his fair. "I'll figure something out."

Ryoma nodded curtly. "You better."

Atobe would have snorted if it wasn't such a disgraceful thing to do. He closed his eyes tiredly. Sometimes it felt like everything in the world was on his shoulders. He had to be tennis captain. He was on student council. He was academic royalty. He was expected to learn the ways of his father's business. Now he had to take care of Ryoma, and stop Kon Nikolaj from infiltrating their tennis team.

It still amazed him that he got his beauty sleep.

A small hand squeezed his shoulder, sending a pleasant tremor through his body. Atobe opened his eyes to see Ryoma's face. His mouth felt dry, and he just stared at Ryoma unblinkingly, drowning in pools of gold. The gnawing in his stomach grew.

Ryoma smirked, removing his hand. "I do the intimate shoulder squeeze better than you."

Atobe swallowed, unable to think of a witty retort. His brain felt like fuzz. He didn't think Ryoma had ever touched him before. It felt sensual even if it wasn't supposed to, and Atobe reminded himself that he liked cute girls like An.

"How did you know?" Atobe finally settled for. "That I needed comfort?"

"Your Monkey face gave it away."

Atobe twitched. "My face is royalty."

Ryoma nodded. "It is royalty. That's why you're a Monkey _King._"

Atobe was about to retort, but Ryoma stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm leaving. See you later, Monkey King." He turned the other way. Atobe felt this hammering in his heart that spread over his whole body. It wasn't dark yet, but the sky was a deep orange, indicating the transition to nightfall.

He stood up. "Wait!"

"What is it?" Ryoma looked over his shoulder in irritation.

"Ore-sama will walk you home."

"I said I didn't want pity."

"It's not pity." Atobe fell into step beside him. "I just feel like it."

Ryoma eyed him carefully, studying his intentions. Atobe knew he was going to refuse the offer.

But then Ryoma shrugged, and said, "Fine," and Atobe felt his heart swell in a way that scared him right down to his core.

* * *

It was dark by the time they reached Ryoma's house, and Atobe was glad he had offered to walk Ryoma home. He knew Ryoma didn't want pity, but Atobe didn't consider this pity. He considered it rational. With Kon Nikolaj on the loose, Ryoma didn't need to be wandering around in the dark alone. He may have been able to punch the living daylights out of Atobe, but he was still barely five feet. Kon Nikolaj was huge.

"Ore-sama has escorted you."

Ryoma yawned. "Whatever."

"You don't know how lucky you are."

"I'm not lucky," Ryoma said.

Atobe looked away. He supposed Ryoma wasn't lucky. But Ryoma didn't seem mad about the statement – just sleepy. He shot Atobe a tired look before heading up his front porch. Atobe watched him, and the lamppost from across the street shot a halo of light over Ryoma's small frame, lighting him up like fire.

Ryoma was always on fire, Atobe thought. A flame of burning light that could never die out.

Atobe shook his head at his silly thoughts, and stepped the other way.

"Ne, Monkey King?"

Atobe looked back. Ryoma stood in his doorway, smirking. He was leaning against the wide doorframe. "What about my kiss goodnight?"

Heat spread over the bridge of Atobe's nose, but darkness hid it. He couldn't get words out of his mouth.

"I didn't know Monkey's could turn pink," was all Ryoma said, before closing the door behind him.

Atobe cursed the lampposts.

He ignored the gnawing in his stomach; ignored the way the words _kiss _send warmth in his belly; ignored the heat in his face and the sweat on his palms.

It was just the humidity of the summer night. Nothing else.

It had nothing to do with Ryoma's full mouth and bright eyes and endearing tone.

Atobe swallowed and called a limo.

Nothing to do with that at all.


	8. Chapter 8

It was finally the day of the summer camp.

Echizen Ryoma gulped down his milk and toast, scrambling to slip on his tennis shoes. He'd had a groggy start to the morning because his father had quite literally _dumped _freezing water on his head to wake him up, and he didn't want to be late. Normally, being late mattered to Ryoma as much as pretty girls, but today was an exception.

A bus paid by Hyotei was going to arrive at his doors, and he doubted the rich would wait while he tied his shoes.

"I'm leaving!" Ryoma finished up his laces, one foot already out the door. He saw the head of the bus turn into the corner of his street.

"Wait, seishounen!"

Ryoma turned his head irritably. "What?" He was still pissed at his dad for dumping water on his head.

Nanjiroh ambled over. "Hora." He tossed a bottle at his son, and Ryoma's quick reflexes allowed him to grab it gracefully. His Prazosin pills for his nightmares. Right. He felt a little embarrassed for forgetting them, and was almost grateful to his old man for remembering. He would probably have to share rooms during the trip, and if someone saw him sweating and rolling in his bed from nightmares, he would actually die.

"Thanks," Ryoma muttered.

Nanjiroh shrugged. "I'm not as irresponsible as you think."

Ryoma stood there uncomfortably.

"Oh, yeah," Nanjiroh said casually. "I saw that that rich kid from Hyotei walked you home a couple weeks ago." He grinned. "Heh, you're getting to that age, aren't you?"

Ryoma's eyes flamed. Stupid old man. "It didn't mean anything," Ryoma said. "It was only because you had to go open your big mouth and tell that Monkey King's father what happened. You know I don't need protection."

Nanjiroh just cackled. "I was waiting for a kiss on the front porch though!"

"Were you looking out the window?" Ryoma said suspiciously.

"With binoculars," Nanjiroh confirmed.

Stupid. Old. Man.

Ryoma grit his teeth, but he knew he had to get going. The bus was parked in front of his door. He would just get his dad back when he returned from the training camp. Thinking of creative ways to make his dad suffer, Ryoma walked toward the bus. It was a hot day, and the sun poured heat waves on his back. He had only walked from his house to the bus and he already felt sweaty.

Ryoma welcomed the cool air conditioning of the bus with a breath of relief, and nodded his thanks to the driver.

And then he stood there, awkwardly clutching his duffle bag.

Hyotei and other rich kids stared back at him.

Ryoma wasn't easily embarrassed, but he didn't know where to sit, and he felt heat warm his cheeks. He blamed it on the summer air, and started to walk down the aisle. Gakuto glared at him, apparently annoyed that someone with relations to Kikumaru had invaded their trip. Jiroh grinned cheerfully, and Oishitari gave him a quizzical look.

Ryoma kept walking. Everyone was already sitting with someone, and the bus was full.

Damn it. _Damn it._

He was nearly at the end of the bus when he saw his ray of hope. There was empty seat! Ryoma moved forward in relief, but that relief flew right under him when he realized that the empty seat was beside none another than the Monkey King. Ryoma stared dreadfully, and Atobe merely glanced at him.

"Take a seat," Atobe said.

"With you?" Ryoma grumbled.

"I have to protect you." Atobe flicked imaginary dust off of his nails. "Take a seat," he said again.

Ryoma's pride wanted him to keep standing, but the driver was now shooting an irritated look into his rear-view mirror, and the whole of the bus was staring at him with either annoyance or confusion. Sighing, he sat next to Atobe, shoving his duffle bag in between them. He didn't mind Atobe. Okay, he did mind him. But there was something about punching someone in the face and then having them walk you home that made you hate them a little less.

That was right. He had punched Atobe less than two weeks ago. Ryoma looked toward Atobe, and gaped slightly. The bruise was gone, and his cheek was clear and smooth. Had it really healed that fast? It was impossible. Was the Monkey King wearing _make up_? He thought only girls wore make up.

"I know my face is beautiful," Atobe said. "But blatantly staring is a step up in disgracefulness, even for you."

"Hmm." Ryoma hummed. "Your bruise is gone."

"Of course. I had the finest cream created specifically for my skin type. It was gone within three days." He narrowed his eyes. "Obviously, if I hadn't been punched by you in the first place, the cream wouldn't have been necessary."

Ryoma smirked. "You deserved it."

"Hardly," Atobe said.

The bus rumbled as it made its way down the rolling highway. Now that Ryoma was safely settled on a bus seat, he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. It was a classic rich-people bus. Leather encased all the seats, and the floors were sleek with shine. There was a bathroom at the back, and mints and white wine were in front of each seat.

Ryoma hummed. The bus was clearly not prepared for middle-schoolers. He touched the wine bottle, and it felt cool against his sweaty hand. He pressed it against his cheek, and closed his eyes. It was incredibly hot, and the wine felt nice against his skin. Maybe he could snatch an hour of sleep before they arrived at the camps.

But five minutes into his precious nap, he felt like he was being watched. Ryoma tried to ignore the feeling, but after having been unwillingly ravished for the worst five months of his life, he knew when someone was staring at him. It made him uneasy.

He opened his eyes. Of course Atobe was the culprit. Atobe was looking at him with… was that _fondness_? Ryoma blinked. It _couldn't _be fondness. This was Atobe.

"Monkey King?" Ryoma said tentatively.

Atobe broke out of his seeming trance. He flushed. "Don't call me that," he snapped, but Ryoma could tell he was flustered. The Hyotei captain turned away, staring out the window. There was pink on his cheeks and he wondered if Atobe was having a heatstroke.

It really was hot.

"The wine feels good," Ryoma said. "If you're really hot."

"Huh?" Atobe grunted.

"Your face is pink." Ryoma shrugged. "I just thought you were hot."

Atobe looked at him with an expression of incredulity. But it quickly changed to disgust. "I will not press a _bottle _against my _face. _That is repulsive." He then proceeded to pull out a mini fan from his bag, and plugged it into the electrical outlet (because they were on a rich bus which had working electrical outlets). The fan whirred, and cool air hit Ryoma's face.

"Wow," Ryoma commented. "Nice."

"It's mine. Of course it's _nice._"

Ryoma rolled his eyes. He returned his wine bottle to the tray, and curled up away from Atobe. The fan was a nice addition, and the rumbling of the bus set up a rythmetic sound for him to fall asleep to. The leather seats were cool against his cheeks, and very quickly, he was drifting off to an easy round of deep sleep.

He still felt the tug of someone watching him, but figured it could only be Atobe with that weird _fondness._

And Ryoma found he didn't_ really_ mind all that much, and slept on.

* * *

_Ryoma whimpered, but the mouth crushed any sound from escaping. It smelled and tasted like cigarettes and stale beer. He whimpered again, trying to push the large body off, but he was suffocating in hard and lean. He hated this. He hated it so much. It was the third time and all he wanted was to die. He wanted to die because dying was better than these hands and this pain and this suffocating helplessness._

_The man stopping kissing him for a moment. Ryoma gasped for breath. The eyes on him were dark and predatory, and they roamed over his body in the way Ryoma hated the most. It was the way that made him feel sick and ashamed, like he was a doll that was getting thrown around to play with. A rag doll. With its heart ripped out and blood spilling from its core._

_There were never any words. Sometimes there was "slut" and "good boy" but the words never hurt._

_It was just the hands. The hands. _

_Ryoma hated the hands._

_He squirmed. "Please-stop-"_

_The hands slipped under his pants, reaching down, and Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to pretend he was somewhere else. He tried to pretend he was somewhere where the room didn't stink of sweat and sex, and hands weren't touching him._

"_Please-stop-"_

"Please. Stop."

Ryoma jerked awake, sweating bullets. Atobe's hand was on his shoulder, but all he could see was dark and mean and rough. He pushed away, and shouted, "Don't touch me!" jumping off of the bus seats. He was shaking rapidly, tremors running through his body. Tears were wet on his cheeks, and he was trembling.

"Echizen-"

"Don't." He pressed his eyes shut. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His traitorous body wouldn't stop vibrating with fear, no matter how much he wanted it too. He knew everyone on the bus was staring at him. He hated when everyone stared at him. It was okay when he was playing tennis, but not any other time. He didn't need them to look at his body.

It was _his._

They weren't allowed to look at it.

"Echizen," Atobe said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "Sit down. You had a nightmare."

Ryoma didn't want to sit. Reality was sinking in and hard and fast, and he wanted to die of humiliation. But the bus had stopped moving because he was standing, and he knew everyone was still staring at him. He opened his eyes, still shaking, and looked at Atobe. Atobe had a reassuring expression, and Ryoma stumbled back into his seat.

He tried to calm his breathing, but it still came out shaky and uneven.

Stupid. He was so _stupid._

How could he have forgotten to take a Prazosin pill? He was so used to taking one before bed that it hadn't even occurred for him to take one on the bus. Naps weren't planned, and he just hadn't thought it through… stupid. _So _stupid. Ryoma couldn't look at Atobe, or anyone, so he just stared at his wine bottle.

The bus that was generally loud from chatter was silent.

Then Atobe's hand reached for the space between his neck and shoulder, and squeezed. Ryoma breathed out, and closed his eyes.

"You're getting better at this," he muttered.

"I was always better at it," Atobe said, but his voice was soft. "You get nightmares?"

Ryoma shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Is it about –"

"Yes," Ryoma said quickly. He didn't want Atobe to say _what _it was.

Atobe was silent, and Ryoma sunk into his seat. He hated himself sometimes. Most of the time, actually. The only time he liked himself was when he played tennis, because that was when he felt free and weightless. His therapist had talked to him about liking himself, but he considered his therapist pretty stupid. She gave him advice like _think positive _and be _grateful _and Ryoma wanted to scream at her that there was no reason for him to do any of those things.

But Atobe's shoulder squeeze was nice, and he hadn't left his hand from Ryoma's shoulder, which was also nice.

And he liked that Atobe didn't tell him to do stupid things like think positive.

He just gave him this reassuring look, the way Tezuka did when they were in a climatic match, and it relaxed him enough to not want to die.

"Why is there wine?" Ryoma finally asked tiredly.

"It's not wine," Atobe chuckled. "The bottle is just wine. There's actually iced lemonade inside."

Ryoma stared at him. "Really?"

"Really," Atobe confirmed.

Ryoma stared at Atobe – the slope of his neck, his nose, his dark blue eyes – and realized that the Hyotei captain was growing on him. He turned away, and fiddled with one of the mints, wondering how someone he was supposed to hate with a passionate rivalry had become somebody he could trust.

* * *

There wasn't much training done at the camp that day. It was boiling hot, and after touring them around the gigantic campground, the group of tennis players were shown their hotel rooms. Ryoma wasn't surprised when he found out he was sharing with Atobe. Ever since Atobe had declared he needed to protect Ryoma, he hadn't let Ryoma out of his sight. Even during the tour, he had stayed an annoying one foot away from him, eyes constantly boring into his head.

It had been endearing at first, but now it was just irritating.

_Especially _because they had a bodyguard spending the night in their room.

"What is he _doing _here?" Ryoma asked. A broad man in a sharp black uniform stood rigidly in front of their hotel room doorway, a gun in his belted waist and a Bluetooth in his ear.

"He's merely a bodyguard." Atobe lathered a night-time moisturizer on his body, already showered and dressed in a silky aqua blue robe. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, and with the openness of the robe, Ryoma could see his defined collarbones, and a generous portion of his abs. Ryoma stared, before blinking and shaking his head.

"I don't need a bodyguard," Ryoma stated. "I can protect myself."

"Be rational." Atobe paused. "Maybe if you know you're safe, your nightmares will be less frequent."

"I have pills for that," Ryoma said.

"Natural remedies are always preferable," Atobe said snootily.

Ryoma couldn't stand him. Ignoring the bodyguard, and ignoring Atobe's weird cream-moisturizing, Ryoma headed into the shower. He peeled off his sweaty tennis clothes and stepped into cool water. There was something refreshing about taking a shower after a hot, summer day. The heat melted off of him, and Ryoma leaned his head against the shower wall, closing his eyes.

He had enjoyed himself today. Sometimes the rich people complained about stupid rich people things, but most people had been nice to him so far. Even after his embarrassing nightmare on the bus, no one had really… _asked _him about it. They pretended it didn't happen, which was just the way Ryoma wanted it.

And then there was Atobe.

Ryoma was on and off about Atobe. Echizen Ryoma liked simplicity, and Atobe was anything but. Atobe was complicated, in a way that Ryoma couldn't even begin to understand. He seemed to care about Ryoma, but he was always scoffing at him, calling him a _disgrace _or a _middle-class brat. _Was that supposed to be affectionate?

Not that they were expected to be affectionate, Ryoma mused, wrapping a towel around his waist. He shook out his damp hair, and grabbed some lotion.

They were supposed to be snarky with each other.

That was how it was meant to be.

But then Atobe would sometimes turn off the snark, and stare at him with this unwavering fondness, pink on his cheeks and warmth in his eyes.

It confused the hell out of Ryoma.

Did Atobe hate him or consider him a friend?

It was a question Ryoma was starting to think he would never know the answer to.

"Stupid Monkey King," Ryoma muttered to himself, stepping out of the bathroom. Steam rolled in from under the door, and his damp hair dripped water down his neck, lightly soaking the back of his shirt. He shook his hair out again, balling up his towel and tossing it into his duffel bag. He had half-expected the Monkey King to be staring at him – because that was all he had seemed to do throughout the whole day – but Atobe hadn't looked up when he'd come out of the bathroom.

He seemed to be absorbed in something. His laptop rested on his lap, and his head was bent over a manila folder.

"It's a tennis camp," Ryoma said. "Che. Laptops shouldn't even be allowed."

Atobe didn't say anything. He just squinted at the screen, before noting something down.

"What are you doing?" Ryoma asked.

Once again, he received no reply.

Tired of being ignored, Ryoma went over to the bedside, wondering what Atobe found so interesting anyway. He popped his head toward the laptop screen. Ryoma's expression froze when he realized what Atobe was reading.

"What are _you _doing?" He said angrily.

Atobe slammed his laptop with surprising force. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"I just wanted to see," Ryoma said. "Why the fuck were you searching that up?"

Atobe kept an iron grip on his laptop. "It's none of your business."

"It isn't? You were looking at legal rights and shit. About sex slavery. Tell me again it isn't my business."

Atobe just shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

He wouldn't? "Try me," Ryoma said. He tried to keep his anger coated with coolness, because he couldn't explode. Not again. It was happening too much lately for his liking, and he wanted to come back into grips with his personality.

Atobe chewed on his lower lip, as if contemplating the decision. Finally, he heaved a huge sigh. "You're going to be mad if I tell you."

"I'm mad anyway," Ryoma said.

Atobe snorted, but amended. "I'm making a case."

"Is this a homework assignment?" Ryoma said suspiciously.

"No." Atobe's eyes were light. He sighed. "I don't want Kon Nikolaj to coach our tennis team, but there isn't a way for me to stop him. Unless, of course, I can provide legal proof that he… well, he did what he _did. _So I was making a case. So I can get him in jail, or at least ensure that he won't be coaching the Hyotei tennis team."

Ryoma's stomach curled with dread. "That's not going to happen. He knows how to stay out of prison, Atobe."

"Not if the lawyer going up against him is hired from my father. He won't buckle under any sort of bribe."

Ryoma shook his head slowly. "You can't make a case. You don't even know anything about what happened." Ryoma swallowed. "And when there's a court trial, there are two sides. Who is Kon Nikolaj going to fight? _You_?"

Atobe bit his lip. "That's just it."

"What?"

Atobe wouldn't look him in the eye, and a bad feeling spread over Ryoma.

"No." Ryoma shook his head rapidly. "No way."

"You wouldn't have to do anything. The lawyer would gather the arguments. The lawyer would fight. You'd just have to answer a few question-"

"No!" Ryoma backed up against the wall, shaking his head harder, eyes wide. "I don't want to do it. It's over."

Atobe growled deep in his throat, frustration clouding his blue eyes. He slipped off the bed, and walked over to Ryoma, who only pressed himself further against the wall. "If you can win the court trial, he's in jail. His life is done. He won't bother you again." He stepped closer. "And most _importantly_, he won't be able to coach my tennis team."

"I don't care." Ryoma was not going to go through this again. Answering questions about what had happened in the original court case had been the hardest thing in the world, and the thought of repeating the process made him sick to his stomach. "I'm not doing it."

"Echizen-" Atobe was so close to him. Ryoma didn't know how he'd gotten so close. He was pressed up against the wall, Atobe's face inches from his own.

"No," Ryoma said. "I'm not doing it."

"You have to," Atobe said. His breath was warm, and smelled like peppermint gum. "I'm not risking Hyotei."

"That's all that matters, right? Poor Hyotei."

Atobe ran a frustrated hand through his hair, before planting it on the wall above Ryoma's head. Ryoma swallowed, because he had no idea how they had gotten in this rather compromising position. Still, Ryoma was too pissed to care about how good Atobe looked up close, and he _definitely _didn't care about how his scent of lavender shampoo was making his stomach go warm with butterflies.

"It's not just about Hyotei. Don't you want him to go to jail?" Atobe said, pleading in his voice.

"I don't want to go through that again."

"But it could end everything. You can't just keeping _running away _from him for the rest of your life."

Atobe had a point. But Ryoma didn't want to. He _really_ didn't want to.

"It's one trial. It's a few questions." Atobe's voice had softened to a low hum. "I promise we'll win."

The promise sent unwanted hope through Ryoma. He didn't want to keep Kon around. Of course he didn't. But it had been hard enough when the court had decided that Kon was free to go in the last trial. He wasn't sure if he could hear another judge take Kon's side over his own. It hurt to know that people didn't believe what had happened to him had actually happened.

But here Atobe was, promising they would win. Promising that Kon would go to jail and everything would be over.

And for Ryoma, that was a dream he hadn't let himself want in a long time.

"Okay," Ryoma finally said. "Okay."

He was trembling with the weight of the word, but there was hope. There was hope that one day he would be able to live without looking over his shoulder, live without nightmares clogging his mind, live without touch sending his mind into overdrive, and live in a world where he finally felt safe.

That hope was worth it.

"Okay," Ryoma said again. He slipped under Atobe's arms, heading for the bedside. "Let's do it."


	9. Chapter 9

Atobe Keigo was having a _serious _problem.

His problem consisted of one Echizen Ryoma. For some bizarre reason that he was still having trouble grasping, Echizen Ryoma was becoming attractive to him. This in itself was a problematic matter. Atobe couldn't focus on anything going on in the tennis camp when the small boy was always next to him.

He smelled nice. He looked nice. He talked nice.

It was becoming an unnecessary distraction.

Whenever he wanted to smooth out court details, Ryoma would sit next to him, determined to be involved. Atobe's typing would stop-midway as he tried to ignore the dark hair tickling his neck and the smell of shower gel drifting to his nose. His concentration would waver when Ryoma tiredly leaned his head against his shoulder for a pillow when it hit the later hours. He would be completely useless when Ryoma fell asleep, unable to stop himself from staring at Ryoma soft skin and long lashes.

Atobe was - simply put – head over heels.

Luckily, Atobe was grasping at straws that kept him sane. He didn't _like _Ryoma. He didn't want to take him on dates and be his boyfriend or anything. He just thought the boy was attractive. You know, the way people thought celebrities were attractive. It wasn't anything… _beyond _superficial appearances.

Atobe was certain of this.

Besides, he already had his whole future planned out. He was going to marry a pretty rich girl and they were going to have pretty rich babies together. The girl would be smart, gorgeous, and witty. She would be dark-haired, for sure. Atobe wasn't keen on blondes. She had to be a little on the sassy side, because he didn't want a pushover. Atobe didn't want her to have too many curves either. He wasn't a fan of the big boobs and ass. He preferred the _petite _women. Of course, now that he was thinking about it, she _had _to play tennis, and good, too. That was pretty much a given. Oh! And she'd have to be exotic. What was an exotic feature? Hazel eyes… no, _gold eyes…_

Atobe stopped himself mid-thought, stomach clenching into a knot. Why was he describing a female version of Ryoma?

_She had to cook._

Atobe sighed to himself in relief. That was right. His dream girl had to be a fantastic cook. Echizen Ryoma surely sucked at cooking. Speaking of good cooking, the food served at the tennis camp was absolutely delicious. Atobe sat among his teammates (and of course Echizen) with a plate full of exquisitely arranged Chirashi sushi.

It was the third day of the camp, and while Atobe may have been getting tired from all of the excessive tennis workouts, he definitely wasn't missing the food back at his mansion. Even though he got the best food, this was _first-class. _This was beyond genius-

"Echizen sure has a knack for good food," Oishitari mentioned.

Jiroh crammed more than a few rolls in his mouth. "Mmm! Definitely!"

Atobe arched his brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ootori smiled. "Echizen asked the cook if they could make this sushi today."

Atobe turned to Ryoma, who was chewing quietly beside him. "Explain," Atobe demanded.

Ryoma shrugged. "I made it at home once. I wanted to see how it tasted made professionally."

"WHAT?!" Jiroh cried out. "You can cook!"

"Interesting," Oishitari mumbled.

Ryoma shrugged again, not answering, but the group prodded him until he gave in. "Before my cousin Nanako-san moved in with us, my mother was too busy at work to cook often, and my oyaji couldn't cook if his porn magazines depended on it, so I used to cook a lot." He didn't look too happy about it. "I'm a fast learner, so cooking comes easily." He frowned. "A waste of time though when I could be playing tennis."

"Impressive," Gakuto said grudgingly

Atobe just gaped, heart thudding in his chest. "You can _cook_?"

Ryoma shot him a derisive glance. "Yes," he said shortly.

Atobe glanced down at his sushi, and gulped.

Echizen Ryoma could cook.

He was officially a goner.

* * *

During tennis practice at camp, Atobe tried his best to avoiding look at the person who was now dubbed as his dream girl. Well, Ryoma was a _boy, _but it was still unnerving that he had all the qualities he looked for in a girl. The cooking wasn't actually important in terms of benefits – he had plenty of cooks in the kitchen, and with his richness, he could eat out every day if he wanted. However, he enjoyed the traditional image of a pretty woman in an apron taking a warm, steaming pie out of the oven.

Sure, maybe it was sexist, but that was the beauty of women. Men just couldn't pull off that apron look the same way. If he imagined Ryoma doing that…

Cute little Ryoma with a pink apron around his waist, greeting him with pie and bright gold eyes. His hair would be mussed, and his cheeks would be flushed from the heat of the oven. He would have that smirk on, like he owned the world…

Atobe swallowed.

On second thought…

Fuck it all!

Atobe was done with this. He liked girls. He _definitely _liked girls.

He just felt sorry for Ryoma, and his mind was playing tricks on him because he felt bad.

"You're very distracted lately," Shishido commented to Atobe.

Atobe blinked. "Ahn?"

"Distracted," Shishido said again, pointedly. "We should start our practice match."

"Our practice match?"

Shishido gave him a confused look. "The camp counseller told us to start our practice match at Court D."

"He did?" Atobe said, before coughing. "I mean, _he did. _Of course ore-sama was aware of that. I was just giving time for you to mourn for your coming loss."

Shishido snorted, but kept quiet. The two of them headed over to their assigned court. As Atobe passed the array of fresh grass courts, he noticed Ryoma was playing a game against Ootori. Atobe stared at Ryoma's small form and golden skin, and turned away. He needed to stop this ogling. It was disgraceful for an Atobe to admire with such ferocity.

This action did not go unnoticed by Shishido. "You've been spending a lot of time with the Seigaku kid," he said casually.

Atobe hoped his face wasn't as hot as it felt. "His father requested I take care of him."

"Take care?" Shishido questioned.

"It's a trivial matter," Atobe said briefly, not wanting to get into it. They continued to walk toward the courts, but just as they were reaching a good distance, Atobe couldn't help but look back. Ryoma was in the air, about to do a smash.

He looked impeccable, and Atobe felt a fond grin form on his face.

Shishido grumbled amusedly, "A _trivial_ matter, huh?"

* * *

Atobe had come to appreciate his evenings with Ryoma. While most of their conversation during the day consisted of petty arguments, Ryoma always grew tired enough in the evenings to soften up and bring down his walls. He would sit next to Atobe on the bed while Atobe sent e-mails to the lawyer, occasionally mentioning details that would be helpful.

Atobe liked it. He liked the way Ryoma smelled, and the way Ryoma leaned his head against his shoulder for a pillow when sleep got the best of him.

And it was on quiet evenings like this that he, just for a precious moment, allowed the denial coating his mind to fall away.

He enjoyed Ryoma.

"So, are you getting anywhere?" Ryoma asked, leaning over to him to look at the laptop.

Atobe had a blank e-mail file open. Frustration clouded his face. "I'm not getting anywhere. There's no media, no _nothing _about what happened. Are you sure you don't have any evidence? Can't doctors test you for rape?"

Ryoma looked uncomfortable. "It's too late for that. Obviously they tested it a couple years ago, but the evidence is all cleared." His tone had anger simmering underneath it. "How else do you think he fooled the court? He made sure there were no traces – nothing that could send him back to jail."

"None of the paperwork from when you got tested?"

Ryoma looked tired – not from sleepiness, but from mental drainage. "Not that I know of."

Atobe paused, and there was silence.

"What about witnesses?"

Ryoma looked up. "What?"

"Witnesses." Atobe licked his dry lips. He didn't want to bring it up because he knew it would trigger painful memories for Ryoma. "You know, you were sold… to customers. It wasn't just Kon that you had to do it…you… know…with…" Atobe cringed at his own wording.

Ryoma's hand squeezed at the edge of the blanket. His voice was anxious when he spoke. "What's your point?"

"I was thinking we could find one of your… _customers_…" Atobe winced again. "And have him give his word at court."

Ryoma took a deep breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head against his pillow. He looked so stressed that all Atobe wanted to do was take him in his arms and let that stress seep away from him. But he couldn't do that. Of course he couldn't. This was Ryoma, and he was Atobe, and they were nothing more than rivals.

"That's a stupid idea," Ryoma finally said.

Atobe was taken aback. "It is?"

"None of my customers are going to appeal to the court. They'd get thrown in jail if they did." Ryoma looked at him like was crazy. "Do you think anyone is going to _admit _to rape in a court trial?"

That was a good point. Atobe blamed his lack of foresight on the fact that Ryoma was still sitting too close to him for him to be able to breathe properly. Pushing that aside, he tried to attack a new direction. "What about cameras? Do you think there were cameras where – you know – they hurt you?" He knew he sounded insensitive and too eager for answers, but he wanted the best for Hyotei.

And the best for Hyotei was not Kon Nikolaj.

Ryoma looked pissed. Not at Atobe, but everything in general. "I don't _know. _Do you think I was looking out for cameras in the room when _that _happened?"

"It was just a question," Atobe said.

"A stupid one, from a stupid Monkey."

Atobe grit his teeth. "You call me that one more time, brat, and you'll see what I can do."

Ryoma confidently replied, "Stupid, _Monkey _Kin-"

Before Ryoma could finish, and Atobe could throttle him, the door to their hotel room flew open. Their bodyguard took a protective stance, but Atobe waved him off. Leaning against the entrance was Jiroh, Ootori and Gakuto. Jiroh was holding a stack of beer (that Atobe did not want to know where it came from), and they were all dressed fresh out of tennis clothes into dress shirts and khakis.

"What is it?" Atobe asked suspiciously.

"We're going out!" Jiroh exclaimed.

"It's eight," Ryoma said. "And dark."

"Nobody asked you," Gakuto said.

Ryoma glared at him. Gakuto glared back. Atobe sighed, wondering if Gakuto would ever get over the fact that an associate of Kikumaru was at the camp. He eyed his teammates. Still, a night out seemed fun. Stressing about Ryoma took up much of his energy, and he hadn't had proper time to revitalize with his teammates.

"Alright." Atobe slid out of bed. "Ore-sama will be out in an hour ready to go. Prepare Kabaji."

"Yes!" Jiroh fist-pumped.

Ryoma crossed his arms. "Are we even _allowed _to go out?"

"Have rules ever stopped you?" Atobe asked, walking into the shower and closing the door shut behind him.

* * *

Apparently no rules applied to Ryoma. As they walked down the brightly lit corridors of the hotel, Atobe couldn't help but sniff in disgust. He and all of his teammates were finely dressed for a night out, and Ryoma had chosen to wear… _his tennis jacket. _It made his lips curl downwards, and a rude comment stirred on the tip of his tongue. But he knew he wouldn't get anywhere.

Ryoma was a stubborn smartass.

"I still don't get why _he's _coming with us." Gakuto pointed to Ryoma.

Ryoma had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes on the ground. "That's because your captain is obsessed with me."

Gakuto scowled. "You wish."

Atobe scowled too. "Don't be a brat."

Ryoma yawned. "This is getting old, Monkey King. Can you come up with a better comeback?"

"Can you come up with a better nickname?" Atobe ran a hand through his hair. "Monkey King this, Monkey King that. It's ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm magnificent, and you know it."

"You're the _opposite _of whatever you call yourself."

Atobe narrowed his eyes, but before he could reply, Ootori laughed softly. Atobe turned to glare at him. "Is there something hilarious about this?"

"Nothing, really," Ootori said rather shyly. "It's just, I don't usually see you so flustered."

"Flustered?" Atobe squawked.

Ryoma smirked. "I make you flustered."

"You do not!" Atobe said indignantly. He whipped back around to Ootori. "I'm _not _flustered."

"Okay," Ootori shrugged, clearly not wanting to get into a confrontation.

Atobe turned to Kabaji, who had been trailing behind them quietly. "Kabaji. Tell them I'm not flustered."

"Usu."

"That's not telling them I'm not flustered!"

"Usu."

"I _said_-"

Ryoma tugged on his arm, and Atobe paused, looking down. Ryoma exchanged a meaningful glance with him, and Atobe realized it basically said: _You're making a fool of yourself. Calm down. _He didn't know why, but he trusted Ryoma. So he cleared his throat, and quieted down. When he looked back up, Ryoma was staring at him, eyes bright and curious.

"What?" he said under his breath.

Ryoma grinned. "You listened to me."

"I didn't."

"You did." Ryoma said it quite happily, so Atobe didn't bother trying to squash his happiness.

He liked Ryoma being happy.

He knew Ryoma had suffered a lot, and it was the least he could do to make him happy, couldn't he?

Atobe suddenly swallowed, nausea swirling in his stomach. The gnawing had only grown every day, until it felt like a desperate craving from the bottom of his gut. He didn't know what the craving was. All he knew was that Ryoma made him feel flustered and confused and not like himself – except, sometimes, Atobe realized that the way he acted with Ryoma _was _himself, and that he hid it, unintentionally, from others.

Atobe didn't know why he found Ryoma both attractive and endearing. He had tried to lure himself away from that train of that, but with every half-hearted denial, he grew closer and closer to a ground-breaking truth he didn't want to accept.

He liked Ryoma.

But he _couldn't. _That was something he knew. They were rivals. They were tennis players. They were different in too many ways to count. But when Ryoma walked beside him, the dim lights of the hotel lobby shining on his face, and the cool air from the open entrance blowing back his black-tinted-green hair, it took all of Atobe's strength not take his hand.

It took all of his energy to remind himself that Ryoma was a rival.

It took all of him to remember that he was an Atobe, and wanted to marry a rich, pretty girl who could cook.

Those old fantasies seemed petty and dry; but Ryoma was real.

So real.

Atobe closed his eyes, and shook his head brusquely.

"Can we sneak a drink?" Jiroh asked. "I know we're underage, but-"

Maybe a drink would help him from drowning in Ryoma.

Atobe took out his debit card. "I'll treat."

* * *

They got into a bar – simply because he was _Atobe, _and an _Atobe _had ways_ – _and immediately scattered. Jiroh searched for pretty girls. Ootori tried a drink, before spitting it back out. Gakuto slapped him on the back, called him a "noob" and ordered shots. Kabaji headed to the bathroom to apparently help a girl who was high on the date rape drug.

Atobe had polished off an expensive wine, and was sitting outside on the empty streets of the city. It was cloudy against moonlight, and humid summer air clung to tree bark and grass. Warmth of alcohol coursed through Atobe's veins. He hadn't drunk much, but enough to make him feel more relaxed. He closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against his knees.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered trying to be perfect. Everyone else continued to be amazed by his endless capacity, but Ryoma saw right through him. It seemed like a pointless endeavor if he couldn't fool Ryoma, the one person that suddenly mattered. The only person he wanted to impress because he was falling hard and fast for him.

Atobe sighed heavily. He would ask his dad to go on a world-class cruise. Maybe a luxurious trip would help with stress.

"You left me," Ryoma said.

Atobe looked up warily. Ryoma exited the bar, and sat next to him, drinking out of a Ponta can. Atobe's heart throbbed, and he turned away. But then he worried that Ryoma may have left his drink unattended, and returned his gaze.

"Is that spiked?"

Ryoma snorted. Then he smiled. _Actually _smiled. "Worried?"

"Hardly." The words felt fake and stiff. He let them drop. "Actually, yes. I was worried. Are you sure you didn't leave it unattended?"

"I'm sure." Ryoma took a sip, and moved closer to him. Atobe felt a sizzle of electricity shoot up him – a sizzle he wanted to make disappear. "You're acting weird," Ryoma finally said, and his voice was quiet. "You've been acting weird ever since we came to this camp, but even weirder now."

Atobe laughed humorlessly. "I guess I am."

Ryoma blinked. "Are you _okay_?"

Atobe wasn't okay. He felt sick. This wasn't something new. But most of the time the feeling always passed. He felt sick because pressure was always on his shoulders. He ran jobs for his father's company. He had a perfect GPA. He consistently rose to any tennis challenge, and coached a team of over 200 members. He was part of student council, and involved in many other clubs. He acted like perfection in public, and kept up that image flawlessly. He volunteered at a local homeless shelter because he tried to occasionally help the unfortunate, and now he was helping Ryoma with Kon Nikolaj.

And even with all of the stress, Atobe usually managed to keep his head up. But now he felt nauseous because he maybe-sort-of liked _Ryoma, _and that made everything crumble around him, like the earthquake before a hurricane.

"You're ruining my life," Atobe said.

"Me?" Ryoma's brow rose. "Huh."

"You." Atobe shook his head. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He wanted more wine. "You've made everything worse."

They sat in silence.

Atobe's stomach did churning circles, and he wanted more than ever that cruise. His eyes shadowed over, and he stared at the dark cracks of the sidewalk.

"That's funny," Ryoma finally said. "You've made everything better."

Atobe jerked his head up, but Ryoma was already standing up, walking back into the bar. His heart did this little _squeeze _thing and Atobe let his face fall back into his lap. And then he cried because he didn't know how else to contain the emotions bursting at the seams of his body, always threatening to spill over like blood from his veins.


End file.
